The Rehabilitation of James Buchanan Barnes - The Winter Soldier
by Cassandrala
Summary: Steve Rogers is stumped- Natasha Romanoff found Bucky a month ago, so why does she keep it a secret? And when they're finally reunited, why does Thor steal Bucky away to Asgard? Will the citizens of New York even allow Bucky to start anew? Post Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Angst, Romance, Adventure. Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton
1. 1 - Reservation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing (but Stan Lee can adopt me, if he likes!) and this is my own head-canon_

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _Synopsis: Why does Natasha, the Black Widow, act so strangely when Steve comes to her for help in his search for Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier? Could it be that she's already found Bucky? And, if so, why is she keeping it from Steve?_

 _ **Chapter 1 - Reservation**_

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 _Listen to "Prayer in C" by Lily Wood and the Prick_

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Natasha removed her sunglasses and looked Steve straight in the eye, baffled as to how he'd figured out where she was staying.

"Is there a reason you're so hard to find these days?" He asked, squinting in the sunlight until he raised his hand to shield his eyes. Reaching for his back pocket, Rogers pulled a cap onto his head.

"I'm working." Natasha shrugged, brushing past him and hoping Steve wouldn't read too much into her body language. He'd caught her off-guard, showing up in the parking lot of her hotel when she least expected it, and _that_ wasn't his style at all. _Barton,_ she mused. Barton must have said something. But he _shouldn't_ have. Clint knew what Natasha was up to—why had he compromised her like this?

"Working." Steve repeated dryly. "Right. Even though Shield isn't up and running right now?"

Natasha cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood beside her car. "Did you need something? I'm kind of busy."

"I'm still on the hunt for Bucky. That folder you gave me is full of dead ends and I burned through it faster than I should've been able to. I just thought there might be more to it."

"That's all I was able to find in Hydra's files." Which, she admitted to herself, wasn't much.

Rogers crossed his arms, coming to stand at the passenger's side. " _In Hydra's files_ … why do I get the feeling that's a technicality? I'm asking for any information you might have dug up on _your own_."

Natasha paused and glanced at the ground, considering all the things she might say. She'd promised herself a long time ago that she would never outright lie to Steve. Not if she could help it. He'd earned enough of her trust to be given that much decency. "That's pending right now, Rodgers."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked with a frown.

"It means," she leaned over the top of the short car, willing him to get the hint, "it's _pending_ , so leave it alone." Natasha waited for some kind of acknowledgement, either verbal or facial, but Steve just stood and frowned at her, not liking that answer.

Natasha sighed and shooed him away from the car with her hand. "I've got errands to run, but I'll let you know if Bucky Barnes turns up."

She opened the door, pausing when Steve asked in a scolding tone, "What kind of _errands_ , Nat?"

"Groceries." Natasha grinned wryly, ducking into the driver's seat and rolling down the windows to see the roll of his eyes.

"And dry cleaning, I'll bet." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he backed further away, but at least he sounded like he wouldn't be pressing her any further.

"Nope," Natasha called, turning the key in the ignition. "That was _last_ week."

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 _ **res`er`va`tion: (noun) The action of withholding something**_

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 _Just a warning, some will be short and some will be long!_

 _Please leave me a review if you liked this chapter, it would make me so so so happy! :)_

 _If you know of a good Bucky/Steve story, please refer me to it! I love reading much more than writing!_

 _._

 _By the way, if you enjoy Hobbit stories—check out my author profile and writing list for Hobbit fan fics!_


	2. 2 - Reclamation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing (but Stan Lee can adopt me, if he likes!) and this is my own head-canon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 2 - Reclamation**_

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 _Listen to "Caught A Long Wind" by Feist_

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Natasha knew Steve had followed her from the parking lot and was trying her hardest not to smile in amusement. _Really, now, Steve,_ she thought. _Spying on the spy? You should know better_.

He'd shadowed her down the block, likely keeping up foot, and was now atop the roof of a building with a fire escape—a good vantage point of the park bench Natasha was currently sitting on.

"Well," said a voice from her left, the park bench shifting as someone sat beside her. "This is a bit awkward."

Natasha looked the man up and down and smiled. "It doesn't have to be awkward if you don't make it that way, Bruce."

Banner sighed. "I still maintain what I said before, about us not—"

"I'm not here about that." Natasha interrupted, eyes flickering to where she could almost see Steve on the rooftop before returning to Bruce's face.

"Oh." Bruce's mouth rounded at the sound, head bobbing with obvious relief and—was that a hint of disappointment? "Good." He nodded awkwardly. " So, um… What's this about?"

Natasha reached into her jacket and unfolded a few papers, each with the face of a single man, knowing full well that if she said the name aloud, Steve would hear it. Or any _other_ ears that were listening in…

Letting out a low whistle, Banner sorted through the pictures. "I guess you have a thing for monsters."

Ignoring the jab, Natasha retrieved the pictures and put them back in her jacket pocket. "Hard to meet anyone else when those are the only people I work with."

Bruce chortled, but clearly wasn't offended. "And you need _what_ from me, exactly? I might know a bit about duality, but I'm no counselor."

"Tranquilizers." Natasha answered. "The heavy kind. For something not quite as human as the rest of us."

Quirking an eyebrow at her, Bruce leaned against the back-rest of the bench, lazily allowing his elbows to perch against it while his hands dangled. "You tracked me down for something I know you have the resources to find elsewhere or cook up yourself—"

"This was faster and I need it _now_."

Banner snorted, looking entertained by her request. "What makes you think I carry Hulk sleepy-time tea on my person?"

"Because you didn't want to use the lullaby anymore." She stated. " _I'm_ necessary for the lullaby to work, and you didn't want…that's _not_ bitterness, it's a fact, Bruce. Stark's R and D department helped you out a little more than you thought it would, so you've been over there, coming up with sedatives." Natasha watched Bruce press his lips into a line and she glanced once more in Steve's general direction before adding. "And you're not doing me a favor; this is for Rogers."

As though an internal battle had suddenly been won, Bruce's face softened and he nodded before reaching into his own jacket pocket and handing Natasha something small, shaped like a pen.

"I owe Steve too many favors." Banner sighed. "When are you going to tell him what you're up to?"

"Do you want me to say 'when the moment is right'?" Natasha quipped as she rolled her eyes, standing up from the park bench. Bruce's hand caught her wrist and she halted in surprise, looking back at him.

"He should know." Bruce said firmly before letting go of her arm.

Natasha's eyes were well-trained to note when she was being followed and when her watcher had disappeared, and her instincts were telling her that Rogers was no longer on the roof.

"I think he already does."

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 _ **rec`la`ma`tion–(noun, verb) The recovery of useful substances**_

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 _Short chapter, and the next one is even shorter, but the fourth will be pretty long, so no sweat!_

 _Please leave me a review :) it would make me so happy!_


	3. 3 - Realization

_Disclaimer: I own nothing (but Stan Lee can adopt me, if he likes!) and this is my own head-canon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 3 - Realization**_

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 _Listen to "Retrograde" by James Blake_

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Natasha didn't follow Steve for any reason other than curiosity. He had no idea he was being tailed, his brow furrowed as he was likely processing all that he'd seen and heard between Natasha and Bruce during their meet. His strides were long, but Natasha had no trouble keeping up at a distance, his steps bringing him to an outside table at a coffee shop where Sam Wilson was already sitting.

"Did you talk to her?" Sam asked, his eyes hidden by a pair of dark sunglasses.

Steve didn't say anything, but nodded as he sat, taking the baseball cap from his head and running a hand through his hair.

"Good," Sam chuckled. "I was about to say—how are we supposed to find Bucky if we can't even find our own people?"

"I don't think we'll have to look far." Rogers said in an angry tone.

No, not angry, Natasha realized. From where she stood, she could see the conflict in Roger's face as he looked at his friend with a helpless expression.

"I think she knows where he is."

Sam's face fell and he leaned forward.

"I asked, but…" Steve's voice trailed off as he rested his elbows on the café table, fists balled together under his chin.

"She didn't tell you?" Sam frowned. "Steve, I know you two have been through a lot together, but you need to be honest with me; can you trust—"

"I trust Nat with my life, Sam." Steve interrupted, running a hand over his face and sighing. "And now I've got to trust her with _his_ …"

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 _ **re`al`i`za`tion– (noun) Becoming fully aware of something**_

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 _Yep, short chapter, but the next one is longer!_

 _Please leave me a review—it would make my day! :)_


	4. 4 - Resignation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing (but Stan Lee can adopt me, if he likes!) and this is my own head-canon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 4 - Resignation**_

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 _Listen to "Miss You" by Trentemøller_

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Natasha had found Barnes almost a week ago, but she wasn't about to tell that to Steve. Knowing him, he would've jumped right out into the Winter Soldier's line of sight, calling out and expecting Barnes to run into his arms in a joyous reunion. She couldn't help but laugh at her mental depiction of the moment:

" _Bucky!" Steve shouts, arms open, running toward the Winter Soldier._

" _Steve, pal! Where ya' been?" Barnes answers with a smile, arms open to receive Rogers as the wind blows their jackets around them, beautiful piano music playing in the background. They would collide together with laughter and warm embraces, apologizing to each other for lost time._

 _Until the Winter Soldier's programming kicked in, and then he would grin deviously before jamming a knife into Steve's ribs._

Natasha shuddered at her morbid daydream, allowing her mind to wander in another direction:

 _Bucky, homeless and alone, remembering his past before the Winter Soldier, coming to Roger's front door with his bangs dripping from the downpour of rain. He would lift his thin arm to knock on the door, cheeks gaunt with hunger and eyes full of sorrow._

" _Bucky?" Steve would answer the door in surprise, taking the fragile shell of a man into his arms and offering him a place to stay._

No, it couldn't happen like that, either. The Winter Soldier was a _trained assassin_ , for goodness sake! He could blend in, steal whatever he needed, and survive alone for a long time before he looked for help. But what she was looking at with her own eyes didn't make much sense, either…

There, a good fifty feet away from her—a thin and dirty homeless man, lying under a sheet of newspaper. _This_ was Barnes? _This_ is what Hydra's great weapon had been reduced to? Wearing a smudgy jacket and frayed baseball cap, Barnes' oily, long hair fell into his face while a prickly, gritty beard lined around his chin and jawline. Something stirred inside of Natasha at the sight of him—was it pity?

But the shock of it tasted wrong in her mind and Natasha gave their surroundings another glance. There were a few passer-byers on the sidewalks, one patrol cop, an overweight man selling hot dogs—

Movement.

Barnes wasn't sleeping under the newspaper anymore. Where had he gone?

There! He was holding out a paper cup toward a middle-aged man in a suit with a briefcase. With a flick of his wrist, the seemingly-homeless man's arm jabbed forward with a gun, pressing it to the business man's middle, and a shot was fired through the barrel of a silencer. Lowering the business man to the bench in a sitting position, Barnes calmly and quickly returned the gun and silencer into the dirty jacket, took the briefcase from the dead man's hand, and strode away from the scene.

To anyone else, Barnes might have looked dangerous—perhaps even crazy—but Natasha knew this was no killing spree, no murder of innocents. The middle-aged man had been a Hydra agent, and _that_ was how she found Bucky in the first place. He had been tracking down the same agents she had, only he'd somehow managed to get there quicker. This had been her first glimpse of Barnes in those two weeks, but she had known—somehow it just felt right in that back of her head—that it had been the Winter Soldier killing those Hydra agents. Natasha fell in step with the crowd, tailing Barnes from a distance and promising herself that this time he wouldn't escape her.

Beneath an unused highway bridge, on pavement untouched by the sun, the Winter Soldier perused through the papers of the briefcase, setting them on fire when he obviously hadn't found what he wanted.

"I didn't expect you to be so reckless." Natasha announced, walking into plain view under the bridge.

Barnes looked up, but didn't register surprise from where he sat on the ground. "Why are you talking to me?"

"I've been following you." She said with crossed arms, standing a few feet away.

"I know," He said in aggravation. "But why are you _talking_ to me? Why now?"

"I'm not the only one following you."

The Winter Soldier shrugged. "I don't want to see Captain Rogers."

"I wasn't referring to him." Natasha said, fighting the urge to reach for her gun. The way Barnes was sitting so passively unnerved her. "I meant Hydra. Or did you think you could just gun down their assets one by one and they wouldn't find out?"

It was true—Hydra couldn't have been more obvious in their efforts to find their lost assassin if they had been wearing hats wired with orange flags flapping above their heads!

Barnes sighed, finally rising to his feet and causing Natasha to take a step back. "I wasn't trying to take out Hydra. I was trying to make sure they weren't following me, but it looks like I'm running out of places to run." He said.

"You know they won't just _leave you alone_ , right?" Natasha smirked at the irony. He did _know_ the agency he'd once worked for, didn't he?

"Did they send you to kill me?" Barnes asked tiredly. The resignation in his voice made Natasha falter for a moment and she wondered how willing he would be to come with her.

"I don't work for them, or Shield." Natasha shook her head. Well, at least, not for the moment—Shield had some bugs to work out before she was willing to offer her services to them again.

The Winter Soldier scanned her face before his features relaxed. "I believe you."

"I'm all by myself, Barnes." It was a risk to test the name out on him, but he didn't look repulsed and it caused her to inwardly sigh in relief. "And I think we're looking for the same thing. You said you were running out of places to run—I can fix that, at least for a little while."

He eyed her curiously. _Take the bait_ , she mentally demanded. Natasha made a "follow me" motion with her hand and, surprisingly, Barnes stepped alongside her as she made her way to the car.

 _So far, so good,_ she thought. _Let's hope I'm not making a mistake._

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 _ **res`ig`na`tion–(noun) Acceptance of something undesirable, but inevitable**_

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 _ **Hobbitgurl98** : Thank you! I hope you liked this chapter as well :)_

 _ **Buckyfan:** Thank you for the correction; I've changed the title accordingly. I'm sorry if I offended you, but it's not necessary to leave insulting remarks. True, I have not been in this fandom for as long as you have, but you can be condescending without being hurtful (and I welcome your criticism). If you choose to read on and find any other mistakes in my writing, please bring them to my attention and I will correct them. Also, thank you for explaining to us the reasoning behind both of their middle names._

 _._

 _Please leave me a review, to feed my muse! :) Reviews are brownie-points!_


	5. 5 - Relocation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head-cannon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 5 - Relocation**_

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 _Listen to "Orange Ocean (Loscil Remix)" by Kodomo_

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They drove in silence, the sun descending in the rearview mirror as the car moved away from the crowded city and into the slums. But even in the silence, she knew he was analyzing her.

"Where are we going?" Barnes asked in a grizzly, tired voice.

"A safe-house." Natasha answered, parking the car under a cluster of dead trees that had grown together in the upper branches, forming a natural tunnel. _How much of 'Bucky' is still in there?_ Natasha wondered, silently leading him to a small structure beyond the tree-tunnel.

The small, graffiti-covered, ratty house was falling apart on the outside, but was remarkably tidy and clean on the inside—floors of grey concrete and white block walls, windows boarded up, and only a handful of furniture scattered throughout both rooms. The main room was empty except for a mattress, and Natasha gave it a slight nudge with her boot as she motioned for Barnes to follow her into the kitchen, where there were two chairs beside a table.

Without a word, the Winter Soldier sat rigidly on the edge of a creaky wooden chair, back straight and arms "resting"—more like _hovering_ —over the top of the scratchy table.

"It isn't much," Natasha looked around at the door-less cabinets and stained sink. "And I know it doesn't look like it, but it's clean."

The assassin stared at her unresponsively, as though the state of the room was entirely irrelevant. They were both silent as Natasha sat across from him, noticing for the first time the way his fleshly hand trembled and the quivering sway of his bangs as they dropped in front of his face. _So_ , she thought _, being a vagrant was an act, but being sick wasn't._

"The water still works in the bathroom, if you want to clean up." Natasha offered. His appearance was obviously a cover meant to help Barnes get to the Hydra agent, and she imagined he must have been uncomfortable in allowing himself to get so shaggy. But the Winter Soldier's eyes widened for a moment before he glared at her and shook his head. He plainly didn't want to be that vulnerable around her.

It was just a flash, just a brief moment that her mind wandered, but Natasha wondered what Barnes looked like without the long hair and beard.

"Hungry?" Natasha asked after a long moment of silence. _Easy questions first, harder things later…_

Barnes shook his head again and raised the bottom of his shirt for Natasha to see. On his waist was a mark—a spot for a feeding tube. Natasha looked at him in surprise.

"You don't _eat_?" She raised a brow at him. Even thin as he was, how did he maintain that much muscle with a feeding tube? Then again, cryogenics could mess up a person's organs.

"Working on it." Barnes growled irritably. "Protein shakes don't upset me much."

"Hmm." She acknowledged, watching his eyes shift from angry to exhausted. "And when was the last time you slept?"

The blueish, sunken skin around his eyes twitched as he raised them to meet her glance. "I haven't reported in… two weeks." His voice ground out, just before a shiver ran through his body.

"I'm not talking about cryo-sleep." She said, settling herself against the back of the chair, hoping to lend an atmosphere of calm. "What about a normal REM cycle?"

The Winter Soldier didn't answer, but the slight shake of his head told her enough. It had obviously been too long.

"What do I call you?" Natasha asked quietly.

Barnes' eyes were full of skepticism and he was clearly asking himself why he was there at all, probably assuming that he would be leaving soon. Not if Natasha had anything to do with it.

"Listen, I know you don't trust me, and that's fine, but I still need your cooperation." Natasha rested her hands out on the table, palms up and open, and knuckles resting against the scratchy wooden surface. It was a show of vulnerability, proof that she had no intention of moving against him. "I'm looking for someone."

"Are…" He eyed her curiously. "Are you asking for my help?"

"Yes." The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. Was this the first time someone had smiled in a genuine display of warmth since he'd been trapped by Hydra?

The Winter Soldier's eyes lingered on hers with an expression that looked partly shocked and partly relieved. "Who are you looking for?"

"Bucky Barnes."

The light of curiosity in his face dimmed down, replaced by a small look of disappointment, but when he met her eyes again, they said what he was thinking. _I'm looking for him, too._

"So, what do I call you?" Natasha repeated.

"James." His parched lips supplied. "I'm not certain about much, but I _know_ that I'm James Barnes."

"James," Natasha smiled widely at him. But her victory was cut short when James gripped his head in both of his hands, eyes scrunching shut in pain as his fingers clenched at the roots of his hair with a sharp gasp.

"What's wrong?" Natasha's limbs jolted. "James, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Stop," James moaned, pressing his forehead to the table, hands still fisting his hair. There was a small sound—barely audible—coming from inside of James' metallic arm, and Natasha sprang up from her chair, hoping with everything in her that it wasn't a detonation device about to go off.

"James," She tried to sound calm as she stood over him, but the fear was most definitely there. "You have to walk me through this—what can I do to help you?"

He looked up at her with gritted teeth, obviously in a tremendous amount of pain, made visible by the blood vessels that flared beneath his forehead. Crying out and slamming his metallic hand down, the table crumbled beneath the blow and James jumped to his feet, glaring at Natasha.

"Why are you _really_ here?" He shouted, spit flying from his bared teeth.

Natasha held up her hands, eyes widening as she took a step away from him. "James, calm down." Barnes looked ready to erupt with fury, and no matter how many times Natasha had seen something similar with Bruce Banner, she had to admit that it frightened her.

"R _ogers_ sent you, didn't he?" James bellowed, taking a threatening step closer to her.

"I'm not here for Steve," Natasha kept her hands raised, but was internally judging a counterattack against the enraged man moving toward her. "I'm here for James Barnes."

If Natasha had blinked in that moment, she might not have survived—James' arm swiftly jutted out, a concealed blade having made its way into his hand, and Natasha only had a second to react. Attempting to block his stab, she chopped at his hand to move the weapon away—but his metallic arm was stronger than she thought and the blade sank into her lower waist.

Kicking out with her leg, Natasha thrust her foot into James' chest, pushing him backward before grabbing the handle of the knife and wrenching it from her body.

"Bad marks, assassin," James growled at her, standing in a defensive pose against the wall opposite to where Natasha leaned against the countertop, staunching the blood at the wound above her hip with her hand. "You let me get too close to you."

"And I'll do it again," Natasha said firmly, trying to ignore the pain that made her want to curl in on herself, but the Winter Soldier had known exactly where to strike her and she wasn't able to stop a moan. "Because I'm _not_ an assassin, just like you're _not_ the Winter Soldier."

Barnes didn't lower his defensive stance, but his eyes softened. "Do you expect me to show remorse?"

Natasha was beginning to feel bleary, her eyelids were closing despite her demand that her eyes remain trained on James. "Maybe not today, but eventually, you will. When you're…" Heaviness made her body sag to the side and she anchored herself on the countertop with a faltering grip. "… when you're James Barnes again."

Cloudiness was obstructing her vision and Natasha felt herself being pulled down. She couldn't remember falling; instead, the ground was pulling itself up to smack her in the face. The last thing she saw before the world turned dark was a set of hands reaching for her.

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 _ **re`lo`ca`tion- (intransitive verb)To move to a new place**_

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 _Please leave me a review to keep me optimistic! :)_

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	6. 6 - Reprobation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own headcanon_

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 6 - Reprobation**_

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 _Listen to "Twice" by Little Dragon_

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A set of hands. Natasha was drifting, but she could feel fingertips on her bare skin. Her eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, but a cold set of metal fingers pressed her shoulder back to the concrete floor.

"Don't move," someone commanded. Natasha's head swiveled to look into James' face. He was kneeling over her as she lay on the ground, his metallic arm returning to her naked hip where his other hand held a needle and thread.

"What are you doing?" She croaked. Was he James again or had he reverted back to the cold, calculating Winter Soldier?

"Patching you up." His whisper sounded angry, but not quite regretful. The Winter Soldier. He wasn't James at the moment, but somehow he also wasn't a threat. "Stopped the bleeding. Didn't have stitching wire. Stole this." The words were clinical, even scolding, as though he were an instructor who was disappointed with a pupil.

"Where are my pants?" She asked, raising herself to her elbows as he clipped the thread with his teeth.

"Soaking in cold water." He said numbly. "In the sink, to get the blood out."

Natasha was too hardened to have felt embarrassed at being half bare and the Winter Soldier was clearly still dominant in this man's mind, shown by the complete indifference he wore when he had been touching her and now by barely looking at her. Lowering himself into a chair beside the broken table, James' eyes narrowed at her face.

"You'll live." He said condescendingly. "But the Black Widow shouldn't let her guard down so easily. Remember that."

At first, Natasha thought about being offended, but then a thought appeared as if from nowhere: this was how the Winter Soldier was showing that they were _allies_ —her name as a spy mattered enough to him to 'rebuke' her for a slip-up with a non-fatal knife wound, and then to tend to her afterward. _How considerate,_ she thought with sarcasm. But she would take what progress she could get.

"I'm not leaving," James said with a flicker of annoyance. "But I'm not ready to speak with Steve Rogers, not yet."

"Do you remember him?" Natasha asked.

James' frown turned into a scowl. "Not much. I get headaches when I try to remember."

Pulling herself up from the ground, Natasha was surprised to find that she only felt a little lightheaded, a stinging sensation in the cut at her waist. The Winter Soldier's aim was true, having missed anything vital, but had penetrated enough flesh to put her at a disadvantage. Maybe he'd done it out of anger, she mused, but maybe he'd also done it to disarm her and cause her not to be so much of a threat. Again, she was struck by the irony of the act—he'd handicapped her because he intended to stick with her for a while. Sticking with her meant he was willing to hear her out. More progress.

They spoke more, all while Natasha wrung out her rinsed pants and set them on the windowsill of the broken-down kitchen to dry, and she was encouraged when she learned that James had gone searching for information on himself and Steve Rogers. James still had reservations and he was disgusted with the "biased propaganda" the Smithsonian and other sources fed to the populace.

"I'd rather not hear about how he's saved the country over and over again." James cut her off as she started to speak about Rogers.

"I wasn't going to say that," Natasha grunted as she slid down a cabinet door to sit on the concrete ground. "I was going to tell you about the little things, the personal things."

James let out a sharp, irritated sigh and clasped his hands together in his lap, but then nodded his head for her to continue.

"When we were on the run from Shield, we hid in the crowd at a mall." She recalled with a small smile. "There were agents close-by and I told him to put his arm around me and laugh at something funny I said. He's such a dork; I've never heard such a nerdy laugh in all my life."

James didn't look amused, but he also didn't look as though the description had been a waste of his time.

"And then afterward," Natasha went on, "we hijacked a truck, heading out to break into a Hydra facility. I remember asking where he'd learned to steal a car. He was offended and corrected me: 'We're not stealing, we're borrowing. Get your feet off the dash'. Even though it seemed like the world was ending all around us, agents chasing after us, trying to kill us, he still had time to be kind to someone."

James' face tilted to the side and he stared at the ground, lost in thought. Natasha wasn't sure, but she thought she saw puzzlement and then recognition.

"Germany," He whispered so softly that she didn't hear at first, and then he repeated himself louder. "He learned in Germany. I showed him how to wire the ignition. We needed a ride to…" He swung his head to look at the doorway and then returned his glance to the concrete floor. "…somewhere." Reaching up to touch his forehead, James winced, but kept speaking. "Brooklyn. He was from Brooklyn."

" _You're_ from Brooklyn, too, James," Natasha said, alert and ready for another violent outburst, but it didn't seem to come.

"That's where I lived," James shivered in pain, clenching his teeth together and clasping at the roots of his hair. "Where I learned how…" Crying out, James doubled over, falling to his knees on the ground and pressing fists to his temples. "My head's on fire!"

Springing to her feet as fast as her injury would allow, Natasha spun around and grabbed her still-wet pants from above the sink, whirling to wrap them around James' head while he screamed in agony. His tormented shouts and heavy breathing distressed Natasha, but she resisted the urge to cover her ears and kept her hands around the cold, wet fabric she was pressing to his head in an attempt to offer him some relief.

"Why won't they…" James gasped, riding through a wave of pain, "Why won't they let me remember?"

Natasha's eyes flew to the metallic arm and, once more, she heard a soft beeping noise and this time caught a glance of light emanating from beneath one of the folds of metal.

"Hydra," She breathed, tentatively touching the panel on his arm, not wanting to cause James further pain. "There's something in your arm, James—you have to tell me about this arm."

"Damn the arm!" James snarled, though his pain was visibly dimming.

"I agree, but you need to fill me in—is there something else to it? Is there something _inside_ of it causing you to hurt?"

"Drugs," James breathed, still gasping for breath, but to Natasha's relief he seemed to be free of the immense pain from before. "Something, I don't know what, but something. For compliance."

 _Compliance_ , Natasha repeated inwardly. Suppressants, probably, and something to keep him from resisting Hydra's orders—his memories were a form of resistance, apparently. Her arms were around his shoulders in an instant, keeping him from toppling over, but his body fell heavily into her hold, exhausted from the attack on his mind.

"I could hurt you," James said in a threatening tone, but he sounded too tired to act on it.

"I don't think you have enough energy for another _lesson_ ," Natasha dared to chide. "You need to sleep."

James made a sound of disagreement, but he was already sliding out of her hold, heavy in her arms, and grunted some form of plea. As glad as she was to have it, Natasha realized the tranquilizer Bruce had given her wouldn't be necessary.

"I'll keep watch." Natasha promised, hoping it would offer him some comfort as she pulled him out of the chair and practically carried him under his arms. Eyelids heavy and head bobbing, James shuffled his tired feet through the doorway of the kitchen and into the room beyond it. Gravity had helped him into the bed, more so than Natasha.

There was a reason she hated this hideout—it was barebones even though she'd scrubbed it from top to bottom. A long-buried maternal instinct nagged at her and she disappeared from the house to retrieve a blanket from the car. James looked like he would survive without it, but there was a kindness to the action that Natasha couldn't ignore, one that she knew he'd gone without for long enough. How long had he gone without a caring touch?

Whatever Hydra had done, they'd done it well enough to keep a grip on their weapon, the Winter Soldier, even at a distance. It was likely his arm was beginning to run out of whatever drug Hydra had been feeding into it and, knowing their ruthlessness, Natasha couldn't deny the possibility of a failsafe—something to kill the Winter Soldier if he failed to report in after a certain amount of time.

Natasha heard the mattress squeak and a muffled thump in the next room, rushing in to see James crumpled in a heap beside the bed.

"The key," he was moaning, clutching at his head and pressing his eyelids together painfully, each wrinkle appearing at the corner of his eyes like the shattering of glass. " _Where_ was the key?"

"James," Natasha approached him cautiously, aware that he might attempt to lash out at her. "What key?"

"Agh!" He shivered as if convulsing, the skin around his lips tight as he bared his teeth against some unseen horror. "I just want to find it!"

"What key, James?" Natasha repeated louder, drawing closer and kneeling beside him.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and James looked at her with a strange combination of triumph and severe pain. "The brick! Steve's key was under the brick." His labored breathing scared Natasha, but she could see that he had gained some mental victory. Just then, a tinge of red caught her eye.

"James, your arm is bleeding." She blinked as if to clear her vision and gently picked up the robotic limb. "Your _metal arm_ is _bleeding_?"

"It's still there." He groaned, clenching his eyes shut and resting his head against the concrete floor in fatigue. She could only assume he was referring to a remnant of his arm, but as she inspected the limb closer, Natasha noted that there was a flashing light and a burst of green liquid at the fold of metal just below the red star.

Natasha's eyes roamed the Winter Soldier's pained form, considering her options. As much as she'd wanted to do this alone—to have brought James Barnes back to Steve more… well, _whole_ —she couldn't have known just how much help would be needed. And she knew she couldn't keep going at it by herself.

Letting out a reluctant sigh and gripping James' shoulder, she said, "We're gonna need Stark."

.

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 _ **rep`ro`ba`tion –(noun, verb) A severe form of disapproval**_

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* * *

 _If it's not too much trouble, maybe leave me a smiley face as a review, just to make my day a happy one…? :)_

 _A big thank you to all who are following this story:_

 _Agana of the night, Horsemadgirl, XxStephanieDivaxX, jadesky1, , sugarhighjedi, and booboo12361015!_


	7. 7 - Re-evaluation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head canon. I'd love to think that this is how Marvel would cover so many comic-books worth of information._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 7 – Re-evaluation**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "The Angry River" by The Hat, Father John Misty_

* * *

There was no difficulty in convincing James to have Tony Stark repair his mechanical arm, but before the Winter Soldier even set foot in the car, he began to glare at her once again.

"Come on, get in," Natasha held the driver's seat door open, hesitating to lower herself into the car until James was safely in as well.

But the Winter Soldier just stood there, glaring at her more, without even touching the passenger-seat door.

"What's wrong?" She tried very much to hide the aggravation in her voice, but it had already been a long day and was leaking into early morning.

"Can Stark be trusted?" James demanded.

Natasha's brow furrowed. "Just a minute ago, you were willing to let him fix your arm— _now_ , you're asking me this?" She wasn't sure what brought it on, but suddenly, something in her mind clicked the pieces together. "If he has to remove it, you want me to reassure you he'll give it back?"

The single nod of James' head was barely visible, but the bangs in front of his face quivered, and that was confirmation enough for Natasha. She leaned over the top of the car and fixed her eyes on his.

"We're—" _Friends? As much as I'd like to think so, that's probably a word he'll be offended by right now_. "—allies, right?"

This time the nod was much more pronounced, and it spurred Natasha's hope even higher. If he was willing to make allies, he could be convinced to trust—a slippery slope, but it could eventually lead to a reunion with Rogers, her ultimate goal.

"I promise you, if Tony tries to withhold it from you in any way, I will fight to get it back." It was amusing to think she could rightfully punch Stark in the face, but there were no traces of a smile on her mouth, only grim determination.

The Winter Soldier nodded again, and if he'd been touched by the sentiment, he didn't show it—but Natasha hoped very much that this emotionless man before her would give way to a softer one, though she couldn't , for the life of her, imagine why. They both ducked into the car, Natasha speeding them away from the slums, and she began to ask herself why it mattered so much to see Bucky Barnes emerge from this machine-like character beside her.

She allowed herself to glance at him from the corner of her eye and found him staring at her. Well, staring was better than glaring, she reminded herself.

"Are you nervous?" Natasha asked him, more out of a way to fill the silence rather than curiosity.

The Winter Soldier raised his organic hand in response, hovering it high above his lap for her to see. He seemed to be silently saying, _See? No shaking. Not nervous._

"I need to warn you about Tony," Natasha said with a small grimace. "He likes to joke around, but he's perfectly serious about his work. I'd advise you not to listen to his banter, but keep an ear open for technicalities. It might help you to repair yourself in the future."

James' forehead wrinkled in surprise. "You mean… I could be autonomous? _Without_ a technician?"

"If that's what you want, James."

"You'd _let_ me do that?"

Having stopped at a red light, Natasha turned her head to see the depth of James' expression: disbelief, wonder, skepticism… And Natasha recognized it for what it was: a further lowering of his barriers.

In that moment, Natasha dared to do something that hours ago would have been astonishing—reaching over with her right hand, she tentatively rested her palm against James' forearm. What was even more astonishing was that he let her do it.

Natasha knew from experience that touch had a language all its own: grasping his wrist or forearm might have been misconstrued as an effort to restrain, holding his hand was too intimate, a hand on the shoulder definitely didn't apply because it was solely for close comrades and he was seemingly injured there anyway…

"James, I'm not going to _let_ you do anything," Natasha quirked a smile, keeping her left hand on the wheel as she drove past the now-green light. "You're your own man. You give _yourself_ orders now, even if that means you don't want to come with me." It was a gamble, but she brought the car to a curb and stopped it, allowing the engine to run. "If you wanted to get out right now, you could."

Dormant were the eyes of the Winter Soldier, James' eyes filled with something else, with _someone_ else. That person looked at her in astonishment, as though he'd woken up for the first time and was grateful to see her. _Hi, there_ , she mentally sang to him with a grin. _Are you Bucky?_

But just as quickly as Bucky had made an appearance, he was subdued and pushed down again, the numbness returning to the Winter Soldier's face as his hand reached for his forehead. "Let go," he murmured to himself in frustration, the pain clearly increasing as he grimaced.

"Stark tower," Natasha reminded him, pulling away from the curb and driving faster than was really necessary. "We're almost there."

* * *

 _Listen to "Twice" by Waterstrider_

* * *

Reaching their destination and guiding him out of the car, Natasha was startled when James threw an arm around her neck, thinking at first that he was about to attack her, but then coming to understand he was too hurt and exhausted to stand on his own. Tapping her finger impatiently at the control panel on the glass door of Stark Tower, Natasha cursed and attempted to bypass Tony's lock.

"Having some trouble?" an image of Tony appeared on the door, smirking at her attempts to figure out the code. "I hope so—I had a stray agent wander in here a while back, had to rewrite the system. Doesn't mean you're not wanted. But go away."

"This is more important than movie-night with Bruce," Natasha snarled sarcastically, eyes burning at his computerized face. "Let. Me. In. Now." Shifting with the heavy arm over her shoulder, she moved as much of James into view as possible. "I've got a sick man who needs to see you."

"You're not helping your case to get in." Tony huffed in annoyance. "Sick people belong in a hospital, not Stark Tower—"

It was desperate, maybe too desperate, but Natasha reached for the nearly-unconscious James' mechanical hand and pulled it up and into view. Thankfully, James was too unaware of it to retaliate, but Natasha was pretty sure that such courage would have landed her with another stab to the middle if he'd been coherent.

"Damn it." Stark cursed under his breath. Immediately, the door swung open, and Tony's voice came from a speaker inside of the entryway advising them to take the elevator to the left.

Struggling to shuffle her hurt companion into the lift, Natasha wasn't in the least surprised when the elevator picked up at incredible speed, though neither of them could feel the pull or push of it. When the doors opened again, Tony was standing with what looked like a ray gun aimed at them. "Did you take enough secret spy pills this morning? You _do_ know who that is, right?"

"Tony," Natasha cautioned, taking slow steps forward as the Winter Soldier's head started to pick up. "This is _James_. He needs help."

As the assassin looked up and his eyes widened. "Howard?" Familiarity and astonishment played across his features.

"Nope, that'd be dad." Tony kept the ray gun pointed at them. "How is he _James_ now? And isn't Steve looking for this guy? And how did you find him? And when—"

James bent over with a wince, his hands flying to his head while Natasha worked to keep him from falling backward. The green and red oozed from James' arm with a fury, dripping onto the black-tile floor while the beep and blinking light appeared louder and brighter.

"Stark, you need to tell me why it's doing that," Natasha pointed in alarm. "Please, you need to help him!"

Something objective and quiet came over Stark and he went to James' other side and helped to lift the man to his feet.

"There." Tony pointed at a metal chair in the corner, close to a set of workbenches and tools laid out in chaotic organization. They hefted James onto the chair, which Natasha supposed was meant for Tony when maintaining his chest arch reactor, and Natasha stood back, not wanting to be in the way.

While James fought for breath, sweat glistening over his forehead, he whispered a frantic, "Wait," and reached for her with his fleshly hand. She saw, for the second time that morning, the frightened eyes of Bucky Barnes re-appear and she took his hand firmly in both of hers.

"Tony knows what he's doing," Natasha reassured him.

"Damn right, Tony knows what he's doing." Stark grumbled at her. "The question is: do you know what _you're_ doing?" Donning a pair of strange glasses and what looked like an eyedropper, Tony took a sample of the liquid and stared intently at it while the glasses moved on his face, scanning it and identifying it. "Or has Mr. Kill-You turned you over to the dark side?"

" _Shut up_ , Stark." Natasha warned him, seeing the raised lip James' brought up in a snarl. "You don't want to make him angry."

"I've already got one friend I need to keep from being angry—not so sure I need another."

There was a click and a faint beep at Tony's touch on the Winter Soldier's wrist, and the appendage whirled for a few seconds before completely detaching.

"Ah," Stark raised the metal hand to wave it at Natasha. "Hi, I'm a brainwashed, soviet spy and my best friend has been trying to find me for weeks, but good thing a Shield agent found me first, cause now I—"

"Stop that." James' growled, his patience visibly taxed.

Tony set the hand down and began to detach the forearm in the same way. "Or am I the only one in on this big secret?"

"You're not." A voice spoke up from behind them. All heads turned to face Banner, standing in the corner of the room as though he'd always been there.

 _So_ , Natasha groaned inwardly, _movie-night with Bruce wasn't a far-fetched idea_. Overhead, Jarvis announced that not only had Steve Rogers entered the building, but was currently in the elevator and heading up.

"Too many security breaches for my liking," Stark muttered under his breath.

Natasha tried to keep her focus on James' hand, rubbing over the knuckles calmly, which was anything but what she felt herself. "Stark, why did you call Steve?"

"In case anyone hasn't noticed, I've alternated between cowering in fear with a taser and working on this gentleman's arm."

" _I_ called Steve." Banner said with crossed arms, slowly crossing the room to inspect Tony's progress. "I don't think keeping secrets from each other is the best policy anymore." James' metal forearm and wrist were resting on the table behind Stark and his hands were hovering over the segment of elbow and bicep.

"That wasn't your call to make." Natasha inclined her head at the elevator, referring to the future appearance of Rogers.

"It's not yours either." Bruce shook his head at her. "Steve didn't back down when this guy was pummeling his face over the Potomac, I don't think an angry outburst would—"

"I was trying to save Steve from that." Natasha snapped, keeping her grip on James firm when the man in the metal chair winced under Tony's hands. She was nervous to meet Bruce's glance, but was relieved once she had—all she saw was understanding and sympathy.

"I know you were trying to do the right thing," Bruce timidly reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "But letting the Winter Soldier use you as a punching bag to spare Steve a few bruises—"

"He could have killed him."

"He could have killed _you_."

"Then, at least, I'd have completely repaid one of my debts." Natasha looked him square in the eye to let him know she was serious.

"That's not the kind of debt Steve would want you to repay." Banner objected, just as the sound of the elevator met their ears. Steve stood in the doorway, his shocked eyes taking in what he was looking at in disbelief.

* * *

 _Listen to "The Little Things Give You Away" by Linkin Park_

* * *

"Buck?" Steve barely breathed, but Natasha could still hear it, and Steve took a few shaky steps forward as Banner stepped out of his way.

As soon as Steve saw the missing pieces of James' arm, he frowned and growled out, "Stark, what the hell are you doing?" But before Tony could answer, Steve grabbed at Tony's shoulders and pulled him away from the metal chair. "What the _hell_ are you _doing_? Leave him alone!"

"Steve, please, calm down," Natasha held her hands up as though approaching an angry dog—which wasn't too far from the mark, considering the way he was snarling at Stark.

"Don't tell me you were keeping me from _this_." Steve pointed at the metal limb attachments on the table with gritted teeth. "Were you looking for him so Stark could get his hands on—"

"Captain Rogers," A firm voice chided, startling everyone when their heads swiveled to see that it came from the man on the operation chair. "You're interrupting the procedure I came to this place for, of my own accord."

Steve took a puzzled step backward, looking as though he were suddenly afraid of the man he recognized as 'Bucky'.

"If Natasha can assure me that none of you will try to take me captive…" James paused to glance at her tiredly, waiting for her confirmation. She nodded in earnest. "Then I might be willing to talk when Mr. Stark is finished."

"Bucky," Steve took a hopeful step forward, but Natasha corrected him: "He prefers 'James'."

If Natasha hadn't spent the last twenty-four hours being glared at by the Winter Soldier, she might have buckled under the scowl Rogers was sending her, but as it was, she was tired both of this whole situation and in body.

"You promise?" Steve looked intently at James. "You'll stay long enough to talk?"

James nodded. "It's possible I'll be more receptive to it once the suppressant is removed."

"Suppressant?" Steve's mouth quirked into a frown and he looked between Banner and Stark, pointedly avoiding Natasha's gaze.

"If the soap opera can continue elsewhere, that'd be great," Stark said through gritting teeth, working with a delicately precise movement over James' bicep. "I'm a little too busy to savor everyone's overly dramatic facial expressions and sappy dialogue." At first, no one moved, unsure of who was staying and who was leaving, until Stark stood upright and looked from face to face. "That means ALL of you. Out."

"Natasha stays." James said, squirming slightly as he looked down at the missing pieces of his limb.

"Let me make this perfectly clear," Tony sighed in exasperation. "Banner is the only one qualified to assist me in this, but there's not enough space for two cooks in this kitchen; I don't need to explain why Mister 'merica, here, needs to get out; and Kim Possible—"

"Natasha stays." James repeated, unimpressed.

Breathing a sigh of relief when Banner ushered Steve back to the elevator, Natasha first looked at James' metal elbow and then at Stark. All while the conversation had been taking place, she'd been concentrating on his features, reading the progress from them.

"Tell me what's going on with this."

"There's damaged tissue just beneath this panel," Stark indicated the area where the fluids had come from. "But there's something else. You mentioned suppressants, what's that all about?"

"Drugs." James supplied. "To keep me obedient to Hydra's orders."

Scanning over the area with something that looked like a camera, Stark nodded. "It looks like fused wiring into organics."

Natasha shuddered at the thought, but tried to keep her face blank. Fused? Wiring into organics? It sounded mercilessly brutal and raw. "Is this tapped into his nervous system?" Natasha managed to ask.

Tony nodded. "Thankfully, you've come to the right mad scientist. I've had a lot of experience with machinery tapping into nerves." To prove his point further, he flickd the arc reactor in his chest. There was something he wasn't saying, a hesitancy about Tony's face that Natasha didn't understand and she called him out on it.

"I can fix this, but I'd rather Darth Vader wasn't awake for it." Tony scratched at the back of his head.

"You want me unconscious?" James slowly edged away from Tony's touch in wariness and suspicion.

"James, I promise we're not going to confine you." Natasha tried to take his hand again, but turned to her with the same wariness. "You're free to go when this is all over."

"This could have been a plot—you gain my trust, only to betray me when you have me cornered." He said, face turning white as his bangs fell over his sweating forehead.

Natasha sighed, much as a mother who was trying to get her squeamish child to take disgusting medicine. Picking up a towel from the workbench and wiping James' brow, she leaned forward and spoke in a calming tone.

"I've had a heavy-dose tranquilizer in my jacket since before I first spoke to you," She pulled it out to show him, even dropping it into his shaking hand. "I could have easily knocked you out before you even saw me coming, but I didn't." James held the tranquilizer between two trembling fingers, vacant eyes slowly focusing on it. "And you remember the drive here—I stopped the car, I said you could leave if you wanted to."

James slowly nodded, understanding her point.

"Tony and I are talking to you about this instead of forcing you into it. Did your handlers ever give you that courtesy?"

The hollow stare fell away and his face registered insecurity, a pleading look that asked her to help him.

"Bucky," Natasha gave him a small smile, recognizing the fearful man. "Trust me; everything is going to be okay."

.

.

Four hours later, Natasha emerged from the lab to find Steve pacing in a theater room while Banner lounged on a black leather couch.

"How is he?" Steve still looked upset with her.

"He's fine. He's sleeping." Natasha said, plopping down on the couch beside Banner. She jolted when the man touched her cheek, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping at something along her jawline. When Bruce's hand came away, the handkerchief had dots of blood on it. None of it belonged to her.

The two men waited for her to speak on, but Natasha was savoring the peace and quiet of the room and gathered an exhausted breath. "There was wiring… the metal arm was feeding him chemicals to keep him submissive, but Tony was able to remove them from the arm altogether. He's working on an 'upgrade', he said."

The jaw muscles in Steve's cheeks worked as he ground his teeth together, sitting down on the coffee table opposite where Natasha lay on the black leather. "How bad is it, Nat?"

Natasha blinked, questioning whether or not she'd dozed off. "What?"

"Do you think he'll…" Steve took his head in his hands, letting out an emotion-filled breath, as though to clear his mind enough to speak. "Does he remember me?"

"Whenever he spoke about you, he'd get headaches." Natasha admitted, pulling her arm up to pillow her head. "We think his arm was set to block memories intentionally. And it looks like the amount of... whatever it was that was pumped into his arm was supposed to last several months, but he burned through it in almost two weeks." She opened her eyes enough to send him a look of comfort. "That's progress, Steve. Good progress. Now lemme sleep, hm? Tony put Barnes in one of his guest rooms."

Natasha could hear Banner rising to his feet. "I know where the guest rooms are; I'll take you there. Nat, are you sure you don't want one of those beds?"

"I'm happy where I am." She muttered.

As her mind began to wind down, seeking the sleep—oh, the wonderful sleep—she needed, she felt her shoes being pulled from her feet and the settling of a blanket over her curled up form. _Even when the world was ending, Steve had time to show kindness…_ Even though he was obviously still angry with her, it didn't stop him from caring for her.

Natasha smiled in thanks, eyes still shut, and she listened to the footsteps of them men as they left the room.

.

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 _re`e`val`u`ation – A conscious decision made by an individual,_

 _developing a plan to get their life back on track_

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* * *

 _Just so you know, I'll do my best to get chapters out for Saturday and Sunday, but I can't guarantee anything—ironically, the weekends get busy for me, while the majority of my free time is during the week. Next chapter—Steve and Bucky reunion!_

 _I know there's quite a few song prompts in this chapter, but it was such a long chapter and had such different moods throughout. Whenever I write, I'm writing with these songs in the background, and they really fit the mood, so whenever I offer them up, the chapters are more or less tailored around them._

 _._

 _ **Sugarhighjedi**_ _—Your review just made my day :)_

 _ **Carla**_ _—Thank you very much! Lot's more to come!_

 _Also, thank you to everyone following this story:_

 _ **Agana of the night, Horsemadegirl, Rafanan, XxStephanieDivaxX, blue candlelight 13, jadesky 1, sugarhighjedi, and booboo12361015!**_

.

 _By the way, if you like the Hobbit, please check out my other stories! :)_


	8. 8 - Renovation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head-cannon_

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 8 - Rennovation**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "We Move Lightly" by Dustin O'Halloran_

* * *

"Could be a while before he wakes up," Banner warned, lingering in the doorway of the small room, as if unsure whether to stay or leave.

Steve nodded passively, resolved to keep his internal promise of staying by Bucky's side. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Bruce's eyes scrunch and his mouth work into a look of encouragement. After nodding to Steve, Banner rubbed his hands together and left the room.

For the first half hour, Rogers was content to watching his sleeping friend's face, full of peace despite his still-haggard features. Steve told himself he wouldn't speculate on the treatment Bucky had received at the hands of Hydra, but it was difficult not to let his imagination wander as he took in the rough scars on Bucky's face.

Ironically, it wasn't until much later when Steve found a book to read and was engrossed in it that Bucky began to stir, head lolling over his pillow as he made swallowing motions with his throat.

"Sergeant Barnes," Bucky whispered. "Three seven two…"

"Buck?" Steve nearly leapt out of his chair, startled by the sudden whisper. Leaning over the waking man's face, he swept Bucky's long bangs away from his forehead.

"Is…is…" Bucky's eyes groggily fixed on Steve, consciousness alternately dimming and lighting up in his pupils. "Steve?"

"Bucky," Steve smiled at him, overwhelmed with relief and joy as Bucky's eyes registered recognition. Roger's eyes were beginning to well up, but the wetness was obscuring his vision and he brushed it away.

"Steve," Bucky swallowed and smiled, eyes drifting shut for one drowsy moment. When they opened again, Bucky's eyes crinkled with confusion. "What happened to you?"

"I joined the Army," Steve laughed, recalling the time they'd said similar words—when he'd saved Bucky from Dr. Zola's laboratory. Another reunion he'd rather not remember…

"Yeah, I remember that. S'not what I meant, doughboy," Barnes grinned, shutting his eyes again.

It was amazing how affected Steve was by the 40's moniker—doughboy meaning 'infantry man'—and it gave him hope that the old Bucky he knew and loved might not be as far gone as he'd originally thought. It was almost too much for his already racing heart, which dropped when Bucky looked at him with concern.

"What happened to your face?" Bucky croaked out with a dry cough, tilting his head to look at the nightstand where a glass of water sat. Rogers was about to reach a hand up to touch the remaining stitches on his cheek—courtesy of the winter soldier during their last meeting— when Bucky started to shift as though to reach out for the water.

"I'll get that," Steve insisted in mild panic, twisting and swiping at the glass before Bucky was able to raise his arm.

"You don't have to baby me, Cap," Bucky growled, pulling his torso up to sit, "It's not—"

Despite Steve's effort to keep Bucky from reaching for the glass, Bucky threw out his left arm to grab it from Steve's hand—and stared at where the elbow ended and the forearm was missing. Rough, scarred ridges ran along the fold where the skin would have stretched over elbow and arm, bandaged in some areas where the metal attachment hadn't fit properly.

"Steve," Bucky's eyes widened with horror. "Oh, God— Steve!" He shuffled back against the headrest as though the absence of arm was a monster he could shrink back from. "What—"

"Bucky," The glass slipped from Steve's hands and crashed to the floor as he reached out to settle the unnerved Barnes. "It's okay, you're safe, we—"

"What _happened_ to my damn _hand_?" Barnes shouted in dismay, pressing his chin against his neck to look down at the remaining damage to his shoulder and chest—where the remainder of electrical nodes jutted out from his skin, taped down along his bicep. "Oh, God, what happened to me?"

Bucky's eyes rolled upward and his shoulders slumped, just about toppling over the side of the bed in a faint when Steve leapt forward to catch him.

"You're gonna be okay, Buck," Steve managed to choke out, heart aching at the terror he'd seen on Bucky's face and clutching the man to his chest in a trembling embrace. Bucky groaned against him, a dead weight in Steve's hands, but it would take more than that for Steve to drop him.

As he was laid onto his back by strong and sure hands, Bucky's eyes fluttered open and closed. He whimpered and a look of remorse passed over his features. "What have… what have I _done_?"

Steve wasn't sure how to answer, but held his friend's remaining hand in both of his, hovering over Bucky's face and trying to hold back the anguish in seeing Bucky so stricken with grief.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Bucky coughed, squeezing Steve's hand weakly. Suddenly, he clutched desperately at Steve's shirt, eyes alight with fear and regret as he met Steve's gaze. "Tell her," He coughed again, the last remnants of his energy clearly giving out while his face turned white. "Tell her I'm sorry."

"Who, Bucky?" Steve's hands started to shake, but he kept a grip on Bucky's shoulders. "Who do I tell?"

Slowly sinking back onto the pillow as his heavy eyelids sealed shut, Bucky breathed out, "Tasha…"

.

.

 _ren`no`va`tion – The act of rebuilding or tearing down to make better_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _I wanted so much to keep the entire story in Natasha's perspective, instead of jumping around from person to person, but there just wasn't any way to swing it other than to share with Steve Rogers. I don't mind if you don't ;)_

 _Special thanks to all followers:_

 _ **Agana of the night, Horsemadegirl, Rafanan, XxStephanieDivaxX, blue candlelight 13, jadesky 1, , sugarhighjedi, and booboo12361015!**_


	9. 9 - Restoration

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own headcanon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 9 - Restoration**_

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Caught A Long Wind" by Feist_

* * *

Natasha woke because her stomach was growling, the scent of eggs and bacon drawing her from slumber. Drowsily, she pulled herself up from the couch, eyebrows raising when she realized a pillow had been slipped under her head and a heavier blanket had been pulled atop the one Steve had left her with.

The coolness of the shiny, black tile felt good on her bare feet and Natasha pulled her fingers through her hair as she strode slowly down a hallway, letting her nose tell her where to go.

"And sleeping beauty finally wakes up," said a familiar voice from a familiar face. "Good morning, princess."

"Sam," Natasha blearily smiled until her cheeks hurt, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a quick hug. She should have known it was Sam. Only Sam's pancakes smelled like that. She laughed at the irony of it—a tower full of "superheroes", but it took Sam to remind them they were all still human and had stomachs to fill. He seemed to do that a lot.

Natasha hesitated to share what was on her mind, but Sam seemed to know how to draw her concerns out of her. Eventually, the story of how she'd found James, what had happened during their encounter, and her future concerns were brought into light and Sam appeared to want to help her sort through it all.

"How's James?" She asked into a cup of coffee, leaning back against her chair as Sam rested his elbows against the table top.

"I'm gonna give you the cliff notes, because if you ask Dr. Banner, you'll have a headache." Sam rolled his eyes. "Pretty much, it's like… there's a spinning wheel in Barnes' head and there's a picture of Bucky on twelve o'clock, a picture of the Winter Soldier on six o'clock. Key words can set the wheel spinning and you don't know who you're going to end up with in front—but Natasha," Sam eyed her with some weight, "You were responsible for something _really important_. The stuff in Bucky's arm was locking that brain-wheel down, it wasn't letting it spin. The drugs are still making it out of his system, but instead of the Winter Soldier always being in the front, now it's Barnes in the front."

"That's good," Natasha nodded, relief flooding her chest.

"Well, it _can_ be," Sam shrugged. "But it could also be traumatizing. Before, when it was the Winter Soldier in the front, he could compartmentalize, he could gloss over things, bad things. But Bucky… I don't know how much _that_ man can handle. Let's say Banner's 'Hulk' tried to pick a fight with the Winter Soldier, what would happen?"

Natasha frowned, not quite understanding. "He'd fight back. He'd strategize, calculate—"

"He'd _process_ it just fine," Sam nodded. "But what if _Bucky_ was faced with the Hulk? I know he was part of the Howling Commandos, but… that was a different kind of tough, back then."

Natasha could fully comprehend what Sam was saying, but she didn't want to admit that he was right. "Steve's not doing so bad, though. Give him time, James might surprise you." And as much as she wanted to stay, she needed to be honest. "I think I need to leave for a few days."

"How come?"

"Steve's got Bucky back, I don't want to step on his sunshine. And… I'm not sure how much Barnes is going to remember me, but Steve needs to be his lifeline right now, not me."

Sam nodded, but his face scrunched in disagreement. Out of all the people she'd met, Sam was the most amiable when it came to an argument. Normally, someone would try to talk her out of something, or else physically stop her, but Sam seemed to recognize that she'd thought over her decision carefully and could assess herself whether she was capable of doing what she needed to do.

"When will you be back?"

"Not sure." She admitted, rising from her chair and shrugging her shoulders. "Should I even come back? Steve is still mad at me and I don't want to mess up Bucky's progress now that he's—"

"Natasha," Sam scolded. "Steve doesn't understand yet, but he will. You know he will. And you'll see it when it happens. You helped Barnes get _here_ , that was incredibly brave." Scooting his chair back to stretch his arm out to the countertop, Sam snatched a protein shaker and handed it to Natasha. "Give this to Steve? It's for Barnes."

Natasha rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Why don't _you_ give it to him, Sam?"

"Because it gives you a chance to stay goodbye before you leave," Sam grinned at her knowingly, pressing the shaker insistently into her hand. "And you _are_ going to say goodbye."

* * *

 _Listen to "Opus 44" by Dustin O'Halloran_

* * *

As much as she had given Sam grief about it, Natasha confessed to herself that she wanted physical proof that Barnes was alive and hadn't escaped from the Tower. Creeping into the guest room, she saw that Steve's chair was aimed at the bed as though he were sitting at a desk, his back bent as he hunched over the edge of the mattress to rest his head on James' leg, which was under layers of blankets. One of Steve's hands were outstretched above his sleeping head, gripping Bucky's only hand.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Natasha let her eyes roam over James slumbering form—his bearded chin and long hair were still dirty, but it looked like someone had at least combed through his dark locks. The blue bags under his eyes were still visible, but at least they weren't as harsh as when she'd first seen him in the park. Slowly crossing over to the other side of the bed, Natasha set down the tall cup of protein shake on the nightstand, just within reach of James' right hand.

"He's been asking about you." Steve whispered, raising his head from the bed to look at her.

"I thought you were asleep."

Steve shook his head. "Bucky's really upset about something he did, but he won't tell me what. He just keeps asking me to tell you he's sorry."

Natasha could feel the blush burning through her cheeks. She was no schoolgirl, no youngster with a crush, but these words had come much sooner than she'd anticipated and it caught her off guard. And Steve could clearly see it on her face, even if he didn't understand it.

"I was questioning him," Natasha explained. "He had awful, awful headaches whenever he tried to remember anything. I was probably pushing too far and he didn't know how to react, so he reverted to training." She lifted the hem of her shirt and faintly tugged at the lining of her pants, revealing the stab wound.

Steve's shoulders went rigid and his eyes pierced her hip as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "He did that to you?" All at once, his eyes softened and he shook his head, regret blooming in his face.

"I've had a whole lot worse." She said, lowering her shirt. "He took care of me afterward, but told me he wouldn't apologize for it. He said that if I was as good a spy as he'd heard, he shouldn't have been able to do it, and that this was just another lesson among many not to let my guard down."

Steve frowned, obviously letting the words sink in. "What did you say to that?"

"I told him those were the words of the Winter Soldier. I told him there would come a day when he felt like saying 'sorry' again, and that when he did, he'd be James Barnes again."

The impact of those words visibly struck him and Steve seemed to be shedding his anger toward her with a sinking of his shoulders.

"The next time he wakes, have him drink this." Natasha pointed at the protein shake. "He hasn't eaten real food in a long time, so make sure he drinks these often."

"You sound like you're leaving." Steve rubbed at his eyes, either from sleep or old tears.

"I am. For a few days." She waved a hand at him and Barnes. "You two need to sort this out," _Now that you have a chance of talking without him wanting to rip your face open_. "But Steve, promise me you'll still be cautious. They've programmed him in other ways…"

"I'll be careful." Steve answered, watching her as she walked to the door. "Natasha, wait."

She turned in the doorway to face him.

"You're coming back, right?"

Fisting her hips, Natasha tried not to meet his eyes and failed. "I didn't know if I should—"

"Bucky wants to see you." Steve turned fierce eyes on her, protective of Bucky in a way Natasha had never seen Steve behave.

All Natasha could do under that gaze was nod.

.

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 _ **res`tor`a`tion – An act of repair, to return something to a former condition**_

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* * *

 _Wow, the views and followers of this story just shot up like crazy! I'm so glad people are enjoying reading this story as much as I'm writing it._

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor** —I will absolutely keep going, don't you worry! ;) and thank you for the encouragement, you just made my morning! :)_

 _ **Jadesky1** – I don't plan on stopping any time soon ;) I'm so glad you're enjoying it!_

 _By the way, just out of curiousity, how many of you listen to the musical tracks while you read? Even if none of you do, I'll still post them, but I was just wondering._

 _._

 _Big thank you to all followers (old and new!):_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, Clintashalover66, Horsemadgirl, Lena8993, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, XxStephanieDivaxX, blue candlelight 13, jadesky1, jeepchick89, , sugarhighjedi, totalwihard, Blackhawk34, and booboo12361015!**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **Dear Anthony Russo and Joseph Russo (directors of Captain America: The Winter Soldier and current directors of Captain America: Civil Wars),**_

 _ **I was really nervous about The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies because it would feature the deaths of Thorin, Fili, and Kili, but I figured that if their deaths were written well, I could fathom watching it. I was sorely disappointed. Even months later I am still reeling from how much Warner Brothers ruined one of my favorite books.**_

 _ **Now, I find myself looking forward to Captain America: Civil Wars and I'm nervous again- this time, for a Bucky and Steve Reunion. You did such an amazing job with Captain America: The Winter Soldier, so I hope you won't let me down, but I still have to say it, just to know that it was said and that (maybe) you heard it: Please be careful with this reunion.**_

 _ **If you've read any fan fiction regarding this moment between Steve and Bucky, you'll know that we, the fandom, really want it to be emotional and heart-rending. And yet, I can still see where someone might say, "But there's a whole movie worth of things to cover, we don't have time to dwell on your sappy little bromance." But, please, please, please—Hollywood ruins so many things for us… please don't ruin this.**_

 _ **Give Steve that tear in his eye, give Bucky that low crackle in his voice (proof that he's shattering from the inside out), and give them both that helpless dependence on each other. We know that Steve crashed that plane into the ice because he wanted to die, because he thought Bucky had died and he wasn't sure how to keep going without him. We knew that Bucky would gladly have fallen from that train a thousand times if he knew it meant Steve would live. Give us that, please.**_

 _ **Sincerely, Cassandrala the Spartan Bird**_

 _._

 _By the way, if you're not happy with the way BOFA ended either, you should read my GOLD AND FIRE story (but start from chapter 17 or 18 if you're not interested in reading the whole story)._


	10. 10-Retaliation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own headcanon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 10- Retaliation**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "Should Have Known Better" by Sufjan Stevens_

* * *

After three days, Natasha returned to Stark Tower, tip-toeing into the same kitchen where she'd spoken to Sam. Being just before sunrise, she thought she would be the only one awake, but the light in the kitchen said otherwise. It was James, dressed in a faded white V-neck shirt and black plaid sweatpants, hunched with one elbow resting on the countertop over a cup of tea, his back turned to her. The rolling waves of his hair were bound in a bun by a rubber band at the back of his head.

"Good morning, James," Natasha tried to announce herself quietly, but immediately regretted it when he whirled around almost knocking over the mug of tea with the nub of his left arm.

"Holy mother of—" He spun to face her. A wavy tassle of hair escaped from the rubber band and dangled in front of his wide, startled eyes. He closed his eyes and put a hand over his heart, regulating his breathing while his other stump of an arm lowered from where he'd thrown it out and away from his body. "You scared me half to death."

"I'm sorry," She genuinely meant it, but it came out as a laugh—honestly, she was overjoyed! As the Winter Soldier, he might have flung a knife at her, but as 'Bucky'… well, his response was so _human_. And he looked good. The beard was shaven away, only the hint of a five o'clock shadow forming around his jawline, and his skin was clean and vibrant. His bandaged elbow even looked better, the color having returned to it. Wires were taped down around his collar bone, but they were more or less hidden away.

James skirted the countertop as though afraid to get too close to Natasha while she strode across the room.

"You don't have to look at me like that, you know." She smiled without looking at him, reaching into the refrigerator.

"Like what?" He asked nervously.

Turning to set orange juice on the countertop, she craned her neck to make it obvious she wasn't upset and grinned widely at Bucky. "Like I'm going to get back at you."

Bucky winced. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. You were trying to help me and I stabbed you… there's no way for me to make up for it." His eyes went hollow for a moment, as though lost in morbid thought.

"You don't have to make up for it." She reassured him, watching his gaze go numb. "That wasn't _you_ , it was programming." She defended him, but could easily see that he didn't hear her.

Natasha slowly closed the distance between them and stood directly in front of Barnes, reaching a very slow hand to delicately touch his right forearm. Startling from his stupor, he looked at her as though he couldn't fathom how she was brave enough to stand so close to him and he tried to edge backward.

"We're fine, James. We get to start over now. I don't know you—you don't know me." She said quietly, satisfied to see that the man standing before her was a remorseful Bucky Barnes and not the cold-hearted Winter Soldier.

"But that's the problem, Nat," Bucky frowned at her, seemingly wanting to pull away from her hand and yet letting it remain where it was. His skin was surprisingly soft under the light scatter of nearly invisible arm hair, the muscled veins trailing into the bend of his arm. "I _do_ know you. It's all still in there: I know all about your missions, your history—"

"But _I_ don't know _you_ , James Barnes." She said with a quirk of her lips, withdrawing her fingers when she saw both his discomfort and longing for it. He was touch-starved, she realized. "At least, not much. And if you're calling me _Nat_ —"

"I'm sorry," James apologized quickly. "Steve kept calling you that, it stuck in my mind—"

"It's fine, but it means I get to call you Bucky and not James, right?"

He blew out a slow breath through his nose, looking at Natasha as though she were making a mistake. "It's short for Buchanan. Like the president."

Natasha smirked in amusement, but then froze in place when Bucky reached for her hand, shaking it comfortably as though they were meeting for the first time. Well, it _was_ a first time. While Natasha could see that the man before her was anything but whole, he impressed her with how calm and collected he appeared.

"James Buchannan Barnes, at your service, ma'am." He said with a wink, pulling her hand up to kiss the knuckles. "But you can call me Bucky."

"Mm," Natasha answered with a blush. A blush? Where had _that_ come from? "You used to be pretty suave, weren't you?"

Still holding her hand, but lowering it from his mouth, one side of his lips raised in a mischievous grin and his eyes twinkled. "What do you mean 'used to be'?"

"Well, given that things have changed a bit since 1945," Natasha let the sentence die and reclaimed her hand, startled by how much she'd enjoyed the small act of chivalry. Another quick revelation struck her: Bucky Barnes smelled like soap. It was a blaring distinction from the Winter Soldier, whose scent had struck Natasha as more raw and bare.

"Charm," Barnes smiled and raised an eyebrow at her, " _never_ goes out of style. And if it has, I'll bring it back." He paused, as if to think on something he might add and then the hollow look reappeared in his eyes. Bucky seemed to be staring at nothing, unhearing and unseeing.

"What was I…?" He grimaced. "I was saying…"

"Charm," Natasha offered, her heart breaking in seeing him struggle. "You were talking about bringing a little 1940's charm into the twentieth century."

"Right," Bucky's brows scrunched together as though he was testing out the idea of believing her, but then he surrendered whole-heartedly and smiled widely again. "Where I come from, a gentleman knows how to show a lady a _good_ time." And from the way he was looking so pointedly at her, Natasha knew he was intending to demonstrate.

She had anticipated something like this, but like all the things he'd done, Bucky had surprised her with how quick he was. Quick to heal, quick to snap back, quick to flirt. A reserved part of Natasha told her to shoot him down, not to allow him to form a dependency on her… but with the way he was smiling at her, so sure of himself and looking so alive after having gone through so much hell…

She met his eyes and smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

.

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 _re`tal`i`a`tion – An act of revenge for past hurts_

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* * *

 _Wow! The views for this story are way up! Thank you all for taking the time to read through this :)_

 _A big thank you to all followers:_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, Clintashalover66, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight, Lena8993, Maxiekat, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, XxStephanieDivaxX, blue candlelight 13, drmollydresden, jadesky1, jeepchick89, , sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard, Blackhawk34, and booboo12361015**_ _!_

 _By the way,_ _ **drmollydresden**_ _—is that a Harry Dresden reference? Like the Dresden Files?_


	11. 11-Recuperation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head-canon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 11 - Recuperation**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "First Defeat" by Noah Gunderson_

* * *

Natasha would only ever admit it to herself, but it was a guilty pleasure of hers to watch Steve interact with Bucky when he was having a clear-headed moment. Barnes would smile freely during these times, elbowing Steve as though nothing terrible had happened to either of them.

"The landlady wasn't so happy about it," Bucky was snickering into his hand in the middle of a story, smacking the arm of the couch he leaned back.

"No, she wasn't!" Steve's face was openly happy and laughing, clapping his friend on the back as he reclined beside him. "But you remember when she thought I was your son?"

"Oh, yeah!" Bucky's eyes lit up with even more humor, catching Natasha's grin from where she stood leaning against the wall and feeling it necessary to fill her in. "So, _this_ tiny guy," He squeezed Steve's shoulder, "shows up at my door one day, unannounced, and she takes one look at him and says, 'Sonny, are you lost?' and Steve gets so red in the face that he…"

But, as with most of these clear recollections, something would set Bucky off and the life in his eyes would immediately dim, his features falling from the bliss of an emotion to the deflated frown of a man who has seen unspeakable horrors.

"He…" Bucky seemed lost for words and stared into nothing, his hand unconsciously sliding down from Steve's shoulder as Rogers dimmed in response to his friend's sudden blankness.

"It's okay, Buck," Steve said, keeping a tentative hand on Barnes' forearm. "We'll tell her later. Let's go get something to eat."

Staring blankly ahead, Bucky nodded, eyes still fixed on empty space though he allowed himself to be led toward the kitchen. Natasha mentally logged it away: Steve's response to a scenario ending with Bucky staring at nothing was to feed him. At first, she wasn't sure why he did that, but it slowly dawned on her that he was seeking some form of control. It was amazing that his best friend had been returned to him—an outcome none of them could have hoped for under the circumstances— but there were still reality checks and reminders that 'Bucky' would never fully be the same.

"Natasha," Steve found a moment alone with her, standing just outside the kitchen as Sam talked off Bucky's seemingly numb ears. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, Steve glanced through the doorway at Bucky, who was errantly nodding at everything Sam said, though his eyes showed that he wasn't in the same room.

"What's on your mind, Rogers?" She couldn't help but let her eyes twitch to the doorway as well.

"I need help."

Natasha frowned, crossing her arms. "With?" It had only been _three_ days—what had happened?

Steve ran a tired hand through his hair and this was the first time Natasha had noticed the bags under his eyes. "I know I can't keep this up, but I don't know what else to do. And I know that if I lose any more sleep then I'll be no good to Bucky when—"

"Hold on," Natasha held a hand up, pressing her lips into a line. "Back up. I can see that you're sleep-deprived, I can gather that much just by looking at you. Does that mean Barnes isn't sleeping?"

Blowing out a breath, Steve gathered his thoughts and then tried again. "Bucky didn't sleep for the first two nights, and then last night he kept having dreams and waking up. Sam says—"

"Sam isn't helping with this?" Natasha tried to rein in her surprise, but Steve shook his head, asking her to suspend her accusation.

"Sam _has_ been helping, but he's got responsibilities, too. With his work at the clinic, he already does this kind of thing on a daily basis and I can't ask him to take shifts with me in the night."

"So, you're asking _me_ to take shifts with you?" It was an honest question, but Steve seemed think her tone meant she was unwilling. Far from it, she wanted to give as much assistance as he would let her!

"Please," his voice sounded so defeated, "I didn't want to ask, but I—"

"Steve, calm down." Natasha inserted quickly. "I wasn't saying no, I was just asking for clarification." Tilting her head to look through the doorway again, Bucky's focus seemed to have returned and he was weakly smiling at whatever Sam was saying to him—though the smile looked weighed down with internal thought.

"He trusts you, Natasha," Steve hung his head tiredly. "I don't know all of what you did for him, but… thank you."

* * *

 _Listen to "Another Glacier" by Peter Broderick_

* * *

Bucky felt like his body was floating, but it was falling upward, rising through layers of something cold and tingling like clouds. His senses began to sharpen and in the distance he could hear a siren. Fingers twitching, he realized he was waking from a deep sleep, and he felt something rough and sharp in his throat as the siren continued to grow louder and louder in his ears.

It was becoming too loud now and he wanted desperately to throw his hands over his ears to block out the sound—it wasn't a siren, someone was shouting. A long, drawn out, consistent wail…

"Bucky!" another voice was muffled by the loud and terrified cry. "Bucky, open your eyes!"

He did. And when he did, he understood that the pain in his throat and the loud sound filling his ears was his own screaming. The sound stopped and he took in a deep, choking breath, blinking until he could see the warm light of a lamp and the taupe walls of Stark's guest room.

"Bucky?" The person repeated.

He sat upright and swiveled his head to see Natasha. Natasha? Was she on watch? They never talked about it in front of him, but he wasn't stupid. He knew someone would always be supervising him.

"Are you with me?" Green eyes were trained on him, locks of bright red hair on either side of them.

"Natasha?" Bucky's mouth was dry. "What happened?"

Natasha sat back in her chair, her feet propped up on the edge of the mattress. "You were screaming."

Bucky turned his head to look at the single bed sheet draped over him in confusion. "I was? I don't remember…"

"Were you dreaming?" Natasha crossed her legs and waited for him to speak.

"I don't remember." Bucky admitted with a small amount of shame. A wave of embarrassment washed through him when he realized he was only wearing sweatpants, shirtless with only a single sheet draped across his lap while he sat upright.

Why his modesty mattered was confusing to him, and there was a portion of his brain that instantly remembered he'd shown no embarrassment when he'd stitched up Natasha's stab wound—and she had been much less covered than this! But the natural part of Bucky Barnes, the part that was accustomed to the world he'd grown up in, the part that was still remembering the 1940's, stabbed at his heart. He'd been so calloused with Natasha, and never would he have dared under the natural influence of his mind to undress a woman so. The two parts of him were at war, and it took a moment before he snapped back to the present.

"Are you with me?" Natasha repeated herself, and he got the feeling she'd been talking to him, though he hadn't noticed.

"I'm sorry." He said automatically. "Was I staring again?"

Natasha nodded and said, "About three minutes." Panic started to fill his chest when he understood how much time he lost to these "blank" moments.

"I don't know why I do that." He groaned, taking his face into his single hand. Why was it so hard to keep focus? The panic was starting to creep into his limbs and his left arm was throbbing where it ended at the elbow.

Bucky knew what he wanted—the comfort of touch, something he was beginning to realize he'd done without for a long time—but he didn't know how to ask. He wasn't even sure he deserved that comfort, after his slow recollections of all the wrong he'd done. Was touch even a human privilege for him anymore?

"Barnes?" Hearing his name again, he was terrified of slipping focus and losing another three minutes to numbness. His right arm twitched and he raised it to her for a moment, a desperate plea for consolation, but then retracted it— It disgusted him that he should be begging for comfort from one of the people he'd hurt.

But Natasha, having some secret window into his mind, seemed to understand his silent cry for help and rose to her feet, picking up the edge of the sheet and pulling it back.

"What are you doing?" The panic in his chest increased and he could hear the throbbing of his heartbeat in his ears.

"Lay down," Natasha gently commanded, slipping off her shoes and sliding her feet under the sheet. When it struck him that she was joining him in the bed, his mind was torn again, a 1940's mentality raging against his 20th century de-sensitized callousness—and it didn't help matters that she had dropped her T-shirt onto the floor, leaving her in yoga pants and a tank top.

"Nat," He was starting to object, but she pressed against his shoulder, causing him to roll onto his side as she lined herself up against his back.

"Breathe," she ordered, having laid a hand over his heart and felt his heartbeat racing. "Count inside your head. Fifty, downward."

Doing as he was told, Bucky closed his eyes, concentrating on the mental countdown, and when he reached the end of it, he found himself calmer. Natasha's closeness was like a stinging medicine against a scrape—a pain that almost felt good. Her arm was curled around his waist and he couldn't stop himself from lining his good arm along it, unconsciously stroking the skin at her wrist with the pulps of his fingers.

Bucky's love for Steve was strong—that brotherly love born from a history he could feel all the way to his bones, even if he couldn't call back _all_ of the specific memories. But his trust and, yes, _love_ for Natasha was sharp. Steve's affection was like a soreness in Bucky's heart, consistent and unwavering, but Natasha… she was like a finely-sharpened narrow blade that pierced delicately, but quickly, right to the source of him.

* * *

 _Listen to "Touch" by Daughter_

* * *

Natasha admitted to herself that Bucky's soapy scent was beginning to grow on her, nuzzling her nose into the back of his neck as she spooned against him. She couldn't tell if he was sleeping, but at least his heart-rate had slowed. They'd narrowly avoided a panic attack, she recognized, and she was about to drift into sleep when she felt his fingers caressing her wrist.

That so small a touch should stir such a strong response in her was puzzling, but Natasha quietly allowed herself to enjoy it.

"Natasha," Bucky said with a shaky voice, slightly twisting his head as though he could turn to face her while her nose was pressed into the back of his neck. "Turn around." It wasn't a request, but there was something gentlemanly about the way he said it nonetheless.

Rolling over to face away from him, Natasha tried not to jolt in surprise when he pressed his chest against her back, sliding his right arm under her neck. Bucky let out a trembling breath, perching his chin over her head, and went to rest his left half-arm against her waist— but then pulled it back as if stung.

"Does it hurt?" She asked quietly in reference to his arm, but she felt him shake his head.

"I'm sorry, didn't know if you were… disgusted by it."

"I'm not." She smiled into her pillow.

Bucky made a noise that sounded like relief. "I'm glad."

"Oh, Barnes," Natasha rolled her eyes, reaching gently to bring back his left arm to her waist again. "You'd better not be thinking that, ' _I'm only half a man with one arm'_ bullcrap, because nowadays people don't think like that."

Bucky laughed bitterly into her hair. "Old habits die hard."

"Well, kill it quickly, because it doesn't apply now." She grumbled, snuggling herself against him and shutting her eyes. Natasha seemed to be doing all sorts of things unconsciously because just before she wandered into sleep, she felt the twitch of his hand against hers, having intertwined her fingers with his as his right arm pillowed her head and wrapped around her.

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 _ **re`cup`er`ation – Recovery from a traumatic experience or injuries**_

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* * *

 _By the way, Marvel just released that at the end of Ant-Man, we'll see a snippet of Steve finding Bucky (and I'm not sure what to think, but read it for yourself) - This is an excerpt from a news article:_

 **The scene has Captain America, The Falcon, and The Winter Soldier. Cap and Falcon have located The Winter Soldier to a remote location where The Winter Soldier is tied up.**

 **Falcon asks Cap "Should I call Stark?"**

 **Cap replies "No."**

 **Falcon replies "I know who to call." Implying Ant-Man.**

 _Ugh, I don't know if I like the sound of that. Please, someone tell me Hydra was the one doing the tying and not Steve, because if it was him... that's just wrong. And please tell me he isn't going to be rehabilitated behind the scenes- sort of a "well, we didn't want to tell that story, so it happened 'in the past', and now here's Captain America: Civil Wars where Bucky is all better". Um, excuse me? No! We want to see!_

 _._

 _So, I know it's hard to figure out what to say in a review, but if you like this chapter, do you think you could leave me a smiley-face as a review? It'd make me so happy!_

 _ **KnowInsight**_ _—That's for sure! I think it's totally feasible that he could forget all the insanity for a few moments and revert back to his previous flirty self—what's more; I think Natasha hasn't had a whole lot of experience with that kind of charm ;)_

 _ **Sherimi**_ _—Yay! I love referring people to music! I have whole playlists dedicated to the types of moods I want for my chapters—if you want to check me out on Spotify, my username is Sassafras Cass and my profile's an old picture of myself as a red-head (not read anymore—now it's blue)_

 _The same goes for the rest of you who would like to get inside my head for reading prompts—check out my playlists on Spotify under Sassafras Cass! You'll know it when you see the folders that say "Writing: Anguish", "Writing: Overjoyed", "Writing: Quiet Happy", and so on!_

 _A big thank you to all followers! You guys are amazing :D_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, Clintashalover66, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight, Lena8993, Maxiekat, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, XxStephanieDivaxX, blue candlelight 13, drmollydresden, jadesky1, jeepchick89, , robinsimpiela, sherimi, sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard,**_ _and_ _ **booboo12361015**_ _!_

 _Seriously, you guys make me smile!_


	12. 12 -Re-education

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head-canon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 12 – Re-education**_

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Natasha was well aware that James needed to take things slow, but it was obvious that the former assassin needed something to do. But what could they possibly offer him within Stark Tower? Tony had been almost non-existent, making Natasha wonder if he wasn't purposefully avoiding Barnes, but the rest of them suddenly had an influx of free time. Out of the lot of them, Barton was the one that surprised her. Barton wasn't nearly as cautious of James as Natasha had expected him to be—though later she recognized that he was using the same tactics on James as Clint had used for her.

"Steve says you have a wicked throw," Barton said as he stood beside James in a cleared-out room. The Tower was impressively built, but more astounding was the myriad of rooms inside it, including a shooting range. "I like a good knife myself, but have you thought about using something else?"

James held the pistol in his single hand expertly, as though the absence of a limb was no hindrance. She thought she saw a flash of fear pass over his face as he stared at the weapon, but then it was gone again. The corner of James' mouth quirked into a half-grin, squinting at Barton in amusement.

"Have you read my file?" James lifted the pistol and focused down its sight, the grin lingering on his lips.

Barton nodded, eyes turning to the target. "It said you used to be quite the marksman."

"Used to be?" James breathy laugh quivered his hand and he lowered the weapon without firing. His eyes flickered toward Natasha with humor. "I keep hearing that."

"Don't get me wrong," Barton held his hands up. "But you failed to take out Steve, three times. I think, from where we're standing right now, it's not so bad that you lost your edge."

Natasha wasn't sure what to make of James' expression, something between disappointment, anger, and a hint of mistrust in the eyes that narrowed at Barton. He took a step toward the archer and she tensed.

"Do you have a pen?" The dark-haired man asked. Barton's eyes raised in disbelief for a moment before reaching into his vest and offering a blue marker. James nodded and motioning for Barton to follow him toward the target. "This is, what? Fifty feet from where Natasha's standing?"

Barton nodded.

James picked up the standing target and jogged it further away, to a point Natasha mentally measured as a hundred feet. Then he turned and signaled for the other man to follow. "Write the alphabet in small print. Random letters, as many as you like." James patted the target and strode back to Natasha.

Barton looked stumped, but curious. When he was satisfied with his work and the target was covered in small letters, Barton trotted to join Natasha and James where they stood, watching the dark-haired man with interest—all while James watched _Natasha_ with interest. The way James was reading her, she knew he was looking for something, but she had no idea what.

"Choose a letter." James instructed without taking his eyes from Natasha.

"J." She smiled at him, hoping she could motivate that frown to soften. But it didn't and James' head swiveled around to glance at his target, one hundred feet away. Not two seconds had passed before the first shot was fired.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Three shots, all in quick succession. James lowered the pistol and handed it to Barton, walking slowly toward the target as Clint and Natasha followed.

Her eyebrows rose. Clint had scribbled multiples of letters all about the target, the blue ink bleeding in certain places where he'd tried to write in small print, but the three holes covered any evidence that Clint had written any J's.

"There were four." Clint crossed his arms with a triumphant smile.

"Where's the other one, then?" Natasha squinted at it.

"There, look—right there." Barton pointed.

"That's an 'F'." Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Is not!" Barton insisted. "I wrote a few of them upside down."

"Then why is there a slash in the middle?" Natasha nudged his shoulder.

"It's a marker, Nat. Markers bleed."

"That's definitely an 'F', Clint."

Though James hadn't said anything, Natasha could tell that he'd taken a few steps back and she tilted her head to look at him. He raised his right hand and his fingers twitched, a silent request for her and Barton to move out of the way—and then fished out a throwing knife from where he'd concealed it behind him. Raising the blade and slowly assessing the distance, he let fly the throwing knife and hit the supposed 'J'.

"The point was," James voice was crackly, as though he'd suddenly become exhausted, "I have a method for distances and a method for close combat. I don't want or need any more training."

Barton nodded in amusement. "Have it your way, but tell me you'll find _me_ if you change your mind." Clint looked ready to leave and turned to do so, but James' voice stopped him.

"I wasn't trying to kill Steve the first two times."

Natasha and Barton froze.

"Nick Fury was the target, the first time." James went on, staring at the floor with regret. "I was watching Steve through the window, judged the distance by where he was looking, and shot through the wall to get to Fury. Lack of visibility made it hard, but not impossible. I wasn't ordered to kill him, so I didn't, not even when he pursued."

Natasha remained still, but Barton shifted his weight to one leg, crossing his arms.

"Agent Sitwell and Natasha were my targets the second time. But Natasha gave me a run for my money." James raised his eyes to look at Natasha, a form of apology in them, and they pierced Natasha's heart just as sharply as the knife he'd been wielding. "And then Steve showed up and…" He swallowed, grimacing. "He wasn't supposed to be there, he was supposed to be long-dead. Captain America was a title, something to pass on, but…" He raised his face to look at the entrance of the shooting range. "Steve."

Natasha turned to see that the name wasn't just a reference to the memory, but recognition of the man filling in the doorway.

"You weren't supposed to be alive. I still don't understand how you're _here_ , _now_." James slowly strode toward Steve, grasping for Natasha's hand before she passed by in an effort to escape with Barton. Barton only looked back long enough to send her a silent message: _Nope, you're staying._ And then he disappeared through the doorway behind Rogers.

 _Traitor_. She nearly stuck her tongue out at him. _What was she, James' personal safety blanket?_

"Not sure I understand either." Steve admitted, scratching at the back of his head and leaning against the wall beside the door. "But I'm told they find all kinds of strange things in frozen places."

James scanned him skeptically, standing a few feet away from Rogers. "What were you doing in an iceberg anyway?" His grip on Natasha's hand tightened, but she didn't understand what he had to be anxious about.

"The Red Skull was headed to the United States." Steve said as blandly as if he were giving a report. "We boarded his command plane and discovered several smaller planes inside, armed with bombs that—"

"I _know_ what happened." James growled with a tenseness that puzzled Natasha. What was wrong with him? Furthermore, why was he taking it out on her hand? She thought about pulling it away, but he wasn't hurting her—it seemed to her that he was asking for strength. "But why did you _crash_ the plane into the ice?"

Steve swallowed and Natasha recognized a nervous tick—the tapping of Steve's fingers against his hip. Maybe he thought she couldn't see it from where she was standing, but she did. _What are you hiding, Rogers?_ "I wasn't familiar with the controls and there wasn't time to—"

"Why are you lying to me?" James' gritted his teeth together, releasing Natasha's hand and working his knuckles into a fist. He glared at Steve, pausing just long enough to recover his patience and then whispered, "Why did you give up?"

Natasha was increasingly uneasy, weighing her chances of leaving the room versus how uncomfortable it would be to stay. She couldn't comprehend why James had wanted her to be present, when suddenly Steve ducked his head and spoke in a hollow voice.

"I didn't want to win the war without you. We were that close to victory, I knew we would win. But you wouldn't have been alive to see it. Everyone would have moved on and they would have expected me to move on, too, but I couldn't."

The words were so dramatic, but Natasha found herself wanting to tear up over them anyway. Shame and brokenness were plain on the patriotic man she'd assumed had never given up in his life, and now she was learning differently.

"What about Peggy? You didn't need me, you could have had a life with her." James murmured bitterly.

Steve winced and nodded. "No, I couldn't. It was selfish of me, but she understood. I couldn't keep going with what I'd seen, what I was missing. She was there when I…" He swallowed again and Natasha was beginning to fear he might throw up. "…when I found you."

"What are you talking about Steve?" Natasha finally spoke. "What did you find?"

"After the train," Steve's words came with difficulty and he refused to meet their eyes. "After we brought Zola back, I went looking for you in the ravine. I wasn't even sure I was in the right spot, but we were attacked by wolves and I had to fight off a few of 'em. That's when we found it. Found an arm. In a blue sleeve." Now Steve looked up, eyes full of misery. "And blood. There was so much blood. Couldn't find the rest of you. Thought the wolves—"

"Oh, God," James fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking as wetness drenched his face. "I was there, Steve. I was right there! Just a mile away from where you were standing. Oh, God," James buried his face in his hands, chest heaving with sobs. Crumpling beside him, Steve wound his large arms around James' crying frame.

"I'm sorry." Steve managed to say, but then James buckled backward enough to grab hold of Steve's shirt and shake him.

"Don't ever do that again!" He shouted with an almost feral anger, inches from Steve's horrified face. "Damn it! Don't make me come back from the dead to tell you how stupid it was to give up like that!"

At this point, Natasha's endurance had expired, and her feet practically moved themselves toward the door. The last thing she heard was Steve making promises to James—his voice didn't carry down the hallway enough for her to hear the words, but she knew the tone of them.

"They make up, yet?" Barton was standing in front of the elevator. Had he been waiting for her?

"Sort of." Natasha didn't want to think on it. Right now she needed a moment alone, time to process everything she'd heard.

"I wondered how long it would take." Barton stepped into the elevator with her, speaking as though he'd anticipated the conversation between the two men. Maybe she'd seen the signs of it, too—the way Barnes and Rogers were eager to talk, though over nothing important—but right now she didn't care.

"You're taking on a lot, Natasha." Barton warned after a long silence. "Make sure you're not stretching yourself too thin."

"How did you keep from stretching too thin with me?" Natasha wondered aloud, biting her lip and considering just how burnt out she felt.

"I didn't." Barton laughed. "I let you wear me out without regret. I knew it'd be worth it."

"How?" Natasha squinted at him skeptically. "You didn't get anything out of it."

"That's not true." He shook his head at her. "My kids got an aunt, the bad guys lost an important agent, and the world got a little safer because the Black Widow was protecting it."

Natasha rolled her head, stretching out her neck and feeling just how knotted her muscles were. "Do you think Barnes could do all that?"

"Not likely."

Natasha's head jerked to look at him.

Barton was grinning. "That'd be really awkward to call the Winter Soldier an aunt."

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 _ **re`ed`u`ca`tion – To learn again what one has forgotten or lost**_

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 _Sorry, no music for this chapter (yet! I'll come back later to add one) because I missed yesterday's upload trying to perfect it. I'm sure there are still hordes of mistakes—if you see one, please tell me and I'll correct it!—and I didn't want to miss a second day!_

 _._

 _So, I have an awkward confession to make: I am very well aware of "The Red Room", but as the Marvel Cinematic Universe hasn't made mention of it YET, I will not mention it in this story either. For those of you who don't know what that is, this is the short explanation: Natasha was trained at a "spy base" called The Red Room. In this facility, the Winter Soldier was actually one of her instructors and in time became her lover. There are a lot of mixed up facts concerning why the Winter Soldier had to suddenly leave the Red Room and go back into cryo-sleep, but I'd like to think that it's because Natasha helped jog his memory, causing him to rebel against his handlers. However, like I said, the movies make no mention of the Red Room (though we got to peek at it a little bit in Avengers: Age of Ultron) as far as Bucky and Natasha's relationship is , just maybe, when the next set of movies comes out, I will write an alternate story, but for now, it simply never happened._

 _._

 _In reply to reviews of Chapter 11:_

 _ **Sugarhighjedi**_ _—I'm so glad you like their relationship! I hope it's not too sappy—I don't mind sappy, but I want realism, too!_

 _ **KnowInsight**_ _—YESH! I made someone "aww!"_

 _ **Sherimi**_ _—You're very welcome :) I'm completely addicted to Spotify, and hopefully you will be too!_

 _Special thanks to all the followers of this story:_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, Clintashalover66, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight, Lena8993, Maxiekat, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, XxStephanieDivaxX, blue candlelight 13, drmollydresden, , jadesky1, jeepchick89, , robinsimpiela, sherimi, sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard,**_ _and_ _ **booboo12361015**_ _!_


	13. 13 -Relaxation

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel and this is my head-canon.

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 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 **Chapter 13 – Relaxation**

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 _Listen to "Tip Of My Tongue" by The Civil Wars_

Natasha was exhausted. Used up, tired to the bone, eyelids heavy exhausted. But trying to find a comfortable position in the sea of blankets and pillows did nothing for her. Normally, she would build a protective cocoon around herself—Clint always called it the 'nest of solitude'—and tonight it wasn't working. Throwing all blankets, pillows, and sheets from the bed, she laid herself out perfectly flat and waited, counting her breaths.

Nope. Not working. But, ugh, she was so tired!

"I need a drink," Natasha groaned, pulling herself up from the mattress and ignoring the stab of tight muscles between her shoulder blades. And thankfully, living in Stark's Tower meant there was a steady supply of alcohol. Her bare feet padded silently along shiny black tile, the hem of her oversized T-shirt draping around the edge of her shorts as though she weren't wearing any, and her fingers brushed along the glass wall as a barrage of hearty whoops met her ears.

Sam, she realized with a grin. Was Sam pulling another overnighter with Cap and Barnes? Ducking her head into the entertainment room, she was surprised to see Steve perched on the black leather couch with a Wii racecar controller in his hands. Oh, if only she could Facebook this…

James sat beside him, eyes glued to the enormous screen and hands struggling with his own controller, but Sam sat on the floor in front of the couch, biting his lip between shouting obscenities at the other two.

"You are _not_ taking that corner!" Sam growled playfully, but Natasha couldn't tell who he was speaking to. Leaning against the large archway behind them, she crossed her arms and grinned in amusement, eyes flitting from each of the men to the screen in front of them.

"I can, and I will." Steve countered, tilting his body dramatically as though he were turning with the force of a speeding vehicle. "Buck, help me out here!"

"Oh, no, you don't!" Sam was pulling ahead of them, the grip on his Wii wheel tightening as he neared the finish line on the screen.

"Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—don't let him take it!" Steve called out in frustration.

"I know how to fix that," Barnes said in a villainous voice—and then he reached down to pull Sam's controller from his hands!

"What are you—dude!" Sam stared at the screen incredulously, watching Barnes take the victory. "You can't just take a man's steering wheel like that!"

Doubled over with such loud uproarious laughter that it could have completed with Thor's bellow, Steve reached over and patted James' knee.

"Unbelievable." Sam shook his head, burying his forehead in his knees, but was clearly not angry. "That is the _second_ time you've done that to me—it's a dirty trick, man. That's foul."

"Second?" James quirked an eyebrow at him. "When was the first?"

"On the bridge," Sam rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. "Remember? When you came after Agent Sitwell—"

 _Oh, Sam_ , Natasha inwardly groaned. _Not a good topic of conversation!_

"Are you all finished?" Natasha spoke, causing all of them to startle and whirl to face her. It was as good an interruption as any to distract Barnes from Sam's comment. "Or are we watching a movie?"

The three of them looked from one to the other before nodding. "Movie." They agreed in unison.

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"Roman Holiday," James squinted at the screen.

"1953, Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn," Natasha recited, knowing James preferred to have the information beforehand. Stark had made the mistake of showing him the original Mad Max, and he'd hated it so much that he insisted on a synopsis, a rating, and a cast of characters beforehand. "She's a princess, he's a reporter, she escapes from her guards to have a few days to herself and runs into the reporter." Natasha settled herself down on the couch beside James' right arm with a bowl of popcorn in her lap. "And hilarity ensues."

The comment earned a snort of laughter from the somber man beside her. She wasn't sure why, but she took the moment to look at him, _really_ look at him—his half-arm rested on the arm of the couch, a success for the man who had been so self-conscious about it at first that he'd taken every opportunity to hide it, while his bent knee propped up his right elbow, allowing his fist to lazily press against his jawline. The smell of soap once again filled Natasha's nostrils, and from the way his chin and jaw looked so smooth, she knew it was an obsessive-compulsive habit for him to feel and be clean. His dark brown hair—wavy, which she would never have guessed—was pulled back into a ponytail, and his blue eyes were watching the back of Steve's head as the blond man sat in front of the couch with Sam. James looked… well, good. Healthy. But there was still that pause in his composure, still that look of uncertainty in his eye, as though he were waiting to be kicked out and onto the streets again.

The hair was a bit of a mystery to Natasha, and she reached out a slow hand, giving Barnes the time to become aware of her approaching touch to the strands above his ear, and he went rigid for a moment as her fingertips came into contact with his scalp. He seemed to be holding his breath, but as she combed her fingernails through the strands of hair, his muscles loosened and he almost leaned into her hand.

"Why do you keep it so long if you always pull it back?" Natasha wondered aloud as the beginning credits rolled for the movie.

James inhaled nervously, as though afraid of giving a wrong answer. "Do you… you want me to cut it?"

"I didn't say that," Natasha said, silently reminding him not to read into comments as though they were orders. "I was just curious."

"I don't know what to do with it," He closed his eyes and practically purred into her soft strokes. "I don't know who I am." James turned to look at her, see her expression, and noted her confusion. "Can't wear it like I used to—I'm not 'Bucky', not anymore. I want to be, but… I'm just not."

Natasha could see Steve's shoulders tense from the corner of her eye, but she ignored his reaction and continued to run her fingers through Barnes' hair.

"I'm Bucky to Steve," James nudged his friend's shoulder with his foot, allowing half of his mouth to twitch with a grin. "But to everyone else, I'm that ex-assassin. And I…" James narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. "What was the question?"

"Hair," Natasha reminded him gently, giving his dark brown strands one last brush of her fingers before grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Well, when you figure out what you want to do with it, let me know, huh?"

James nodded, but he looked frustrated. He had lapses in concentration sometimes, seeing to the heart of some matters and forgetting what brought him there in the first place. They understood that it was an effect of Hydra's brainwashing, but no one dared say that in front of Barnes.

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James popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth, still laughing at something Audrey Hepburn was saying, when he reached a hand over to grab more from the bowl in Natasha's lap and overshot his mark—brushing a hand against Natasha's bare knee instead. She'd seen it coming and did nothing to stop it, but Bucky's face snapped in her direction, eyes wide with apology.

"It's okay." She soundlessly mouthed, her eyes scrunching up with the grin she couldn't stop. Her amusement flooded to a new level when she looked down to see his hand hovering over her knee. Bucky's eyes were asking for permission.

She nodded, and when he lowered it to her skin, he was grinning for all the world like he'd accomplished something incredible.

"Are you blushing?" Natasha smirked at him.

He shook his head, but the red on his cheeks grew.

"Come on, what are you thinking?"

"Why are you so soft and smooth?"

Natasha's eyebrows drew together in confusion, but then she looked down at his hand smoothing over her knee and put the mental pieces together. "Razors aren't just for men, ya know?"

Steve, from where he sat on the floor, snorted in distaste. "Ladies today like to shave everything, Buck. And they're very happy to show it off."

"I've seen your head turn for a few legs, Rogers," Natasha chided with a grin. "Don't be such grandpa."

"Back me up, here, Sam." Steve waved a hand at them. "With the way some women dress these days, it doesn't leave much to the imagination, does it?"

Sam threw his head back in laughter, waving his arms to convey he wanted no part of the conversation, but Bucky's gaze remained on Natasha's knee.

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 _Listen to "Not In That Way" by Sam Smith_

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"Natasha?"

Her eyes snapped open. When had they closed?

James face was hovering over hers and she could feel his fingers in her hair, much the same sensation as when she'd caressed his strands. Suddenly aware of the warm, firm cushion of his leg under her neck, Natasha looked down at her feet and realized they were resting in Sam's lap. He must have taken a seat on the couch after she fell asleep- his head was cocked to the side, obviously having dozed with one hand errantly covering her feet while his other arm fisted against his temple, supporting his slumbering head.

Steve was nodding off, fighting against the tired weight of his eyelids from where he still sat on the floor.

"When did this turn into a slumber party?" Natasha groaned, stretching her arms above her head and turning herself in James' lap to look up at him.

"About three hours ago."

"When did the movie end?"

"Two hours ago." James smiled down at her with that half-grin that looked so cocky and confident.

"You could have said something." Natasha said with mock frustration, but James saw through it.

"Hard to be bored with a pretty woman sleeping on me."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but inwardly she couldn't suppress her response to the flattery. It felt like her heart was swelling. "Well, if you'll help me get my feet away from Sam, I'll give you your lap back."

"Who said I wanted it back?" James' grin grew even wider. His lips were twitching, making Natasha think he wanted to say something, but he kept silent—it didn't matter, she could see it in his eyes. Affection.

Of course he felt affection, she scolded herself. It was probably some misguided admiration of her efforts to help him. And yet, the mystery question still lingered at the back of her head: What were her own thoughts regarding him? As the Winter Soldier, he'd been impressive—brutally efficient, precise, and dominating. As Bucky Barnes, he was charming, intelligent, and as moral as Steve. Now that he was trying to figure out how to meld the two… well, Natasha didn't know how to respond to that.

Her silence must have been telling because James left her to it, allowed her to stare into his face and manage her highway of thoughts in peace, but never did the fingers in her hair stop. His elbow was hovering above her collar bone, arm curving under her chin to reach the red strands of hair above her left ear, and he looked content.

Content. Natasha could handle that. James had been living in Tony's tower for a little over a week, his optimism burning bright through the first few days. But then the memories had come. Dark memories that weighed down that cheeky smile until his default had been to frown over everything—as though reminding himself that he had a duty to be somber after causing so much harm throughout his years as Hydra's tool. Contentment was something Steve and Natasha strived for with James, but she had to ask herself why she was doing it.

Why was she putting so much effort into James' rehabilitation? She'd done her part in the beginning—resigning herself to the expectation that she would serve as a human punching bag while Barnes rode out his violent tendencies in his search for truth, but that part had never really happened. Well, except for the incident with the knife, but even that had been tame compared to Natasha's expectations. And now Barnes was in a safe environment, surrounded by supportive friends, and well on the path of finding his place in the world. Why was she allowing herself to become so involved when clearly she wasn't as necessary?

It must have been the lack of sleep, because she opened her mouth and whispered, "Do you want me here?"

James blinked, brows furrowing. "What?" She didn't bother to repeat herself, but waited for him to process the question. "Natasha… Yes, I do." He bit his lip. "Do you _not_ want to be here? I can let you up, if you want to go back to your room—"

"I mean in the Tower." Natasha frowned. Did _she_ even know what she was asking?

James nodded, a strand of his hair falling into his face as he looked down at her with determination. "Yes, I want… I don't know what I would do if you weren't here." He removed his hand from her hair, resting it on her shoulder instead, and the warmth of his hand was overwhelming to Natasha's senses. Brushing his thumb against her skin, he frowned.

 _No,_ she grimaced. _Not the frown, I just got the smile back on your face…_

"I'm hard to live with," He muttered. "I don't know why you keep coming back. You don't have to … thank you for coming back. I know Clint has an idea of what I've been through, but that isn't the same. You've lived it, you _know_ it, Nat. You see me when I'm blank and you know what's going through my head." He rubbed a hand over his face before resting his hand back on her shoulder, and it surprised Natasha how cold her skin felt in that small break from his touch, grateful for that heat when it spread over her again. "I feel like… I'm trying to build something with toy blocks. And every time I've got something built, some other kid comes and knocks it over."

James shook his head, redness blooming over his face that Natasha could only understand as anger. "And then I build it again and it gets knocked down. I learn things, I keep those with me every time, but I keep figuring out who I am and then it falls apart, over and over again." A tear glistened in his eye. "I don't know if I can pick up the blocks again, Natasha. I need help. Steve and Sam," He turned his head to look at them, "they help. You help. You keep forcing me to pick up blocks and set them down somewhere."

He was visibly upset and he might have said more, but Natasha hushed him and raised herself up from his lap, stealing her feet away from Sam without waking him. "You're tired," Natasha said, upright beside James and reaching a hand around his back and rubbing it in what she hoped he perceived as soothing and not bossy. "You won't need to pull all-nighters for much longer, your body is getting used to the idea of sleeping every night."

James nodded, covering his face in his hand and taking in a deep breath, as though he didn't quite believe that tiredness was the source of his distress.

"James, your body is overtired." Natasha patted his shoulder. "Get up, we need to get you situated in a bed."

"Steve," James said, probably to gently wake his friend, but it came out in a whimper, immediately causing Steve to snap out of his nap and face his friend.

"What's wrong, Buck?" Steve rose to his feet, rubbing his eyes.

"He needs to sleep." Natasha explained, pulling herself up from the couch with a groan and patting James' shoulder again.

"Lemme help you up," Steve held out a hand to his friend, but James' eyes were wandering the room in a haze, searching for God-knew-what. When he didn't respond, Steve seemed to understand that he needed to take charge. "Let's get you to your room."

Natasha walked behind the couch to wake Sam, aware of James shaking his head at Steve and uttering, "Yours," before stumbling to his feet. His eyes were still hazy and he nearly stumbled into the coffee table, Steve's arms flying out to steady his friend.

Staying behind only long enough to stay goodbye to Sam, Natasha was there when Steve picked up James under the shoulders and knees, carrying him against his chest without any strain through the archway and down the hall. She caught one last glimpse of James' clouded expression and wondered what his eyes were seeing before she returned to her room and collapsed on the bed.

Nest of solitude or no, Natasha lulled into a deep and dreamless sleep, "Bucky's" charming smile being the last image she processed.

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 ** _re`lax`a`tion: inaction, or a thing at rest_**

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 _Please leave a review, even if it's just a smiley face (I know it's hard to know what to write sometimes, so don't forget to review with just a word or a symbol)_

 _Hopefully another chapter upload tomorrow- sorry for the pause, I've been busy with future chapters (yes, I write them out of order sometimes)_

 _Responding to reviews for Chapter 12:_

 _ **jadesky1** \- I'm so glad you liked my Natasha in that chapter. She's alternately hard and easy to write- tough as steel, but still feminine!_

 _ **Djenthommus** \- Yay! Thank you for the review! :D_

 _ **mmelody6** \- you are an absolute doll *blush* thank you for the smiley-face! Even THAT makes my day!_

 _Special thanks to all the followers of this story:_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, BeautifulSupernova, Clintashalover66, Delena1101, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight, Lena8993, Maxiekat, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, UpYourCupcake,XxStephanieDivaxX, blue candlelight 13, drmollydresden, , jadesky1, jeepchick89, , mmelody6, robinsimpiela, sherimi, sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard, Djenthommus,**_ _and_ _ **booboo12361015**_ _!_


	14. 14 -Re-creation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing (but Stan Lee can adopt me, if he likes!)_

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 14 - Recreation**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "An Ending, A Beginning" by Dustin O'Halloran_

James and Steve were at it again. They didn't need to be shouting to be in a heated argument, but part of that unsettled Natasha—she would have preferred an angry outburst from James instead of the deadpanned, monotone zombie he was this morning.

"—too many people." She could hear Barnes' agitated tone from the kitchen. "I killed them."

"Hydra targeted them, _not you_." Natasha heard Steve reply as she rounded the corner to step in. James' face was blank, his eyes hollow again. He did that, she realized, after a hard night of re-emerging memories.

"It wasn't your fault," Steve tried to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Bucky shrugged him off, slowly, but with strength.

Natasha didn't bother to hide her presence, shoulder blades pressing against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. She knew what Steve was trying to accomplish—to comfort the ghost of a man before him—but she also knew that Steve had no idea what he was doing.

"It _is_ my fault." James' lack of expression was haunting. " _I_ pulled the trigger. I _remember_ pulling the trigger. And I remember not feeling any remorse while I did it."

The anger radiating from Steve was like a heat filling the room. She knew he was struggling, but Natasha had one rule for these kinds of arguments: don't help unless asked to. She was certain Steve was beginning to recognize what he could handle and what he couldn't, confirmed by the pleading look he sent her.

"You're right, Barnes, it _is_ your fault." Natasha finally spoke, earning an incredulous look from Steve. _What the hell are you doing?_ His eyes cried out to her. _You can't say that_!

But she knew exactly what Barnes was searching for in all of this chaos: purpose.

"So, what are you going to _do_ about it?" Natasha let her arms swing by her sides as she took slow, but confident steps toward James. He was peering at her skeptically through unrestrained locks of hair, wondering what she was doing, but she could also see satisfaction there. He _wanted_ someone to tell him he was a monster. "Killing yourself doesn't do anyone any good. Punishing yourself has about the same effect."

Steve looked like he wanted to come to his friend's defense and reached out a hand to the brunet's shoulder, but James shrugged him off once more, both of them focusing on Natasha and assessing her words silently.

" _Or_ you could do something more productive."

"Like what? Send the victims' families fruit baskets?" Bucky said sarcastically, plainly _wanting_ to choose the option of self-punishment. "A little note on the side: _sorry I killed your children, but I'm trying to be a better person now_." He shook his head, his hand trembling at his side as Steve stood helplessly beside him.

"Take down Hydra." Natasha's mouth quirked. "Stop them from using anyone else, from killing anyone else. And stop being so masochistic. You don't need to take responsibility for Hydra's crimes."

She ignored Steve's glare. How could he understand? He'd _asked_ for the SSR to experiment on him, to change him into something different. James hadn't. It had been forced upon him and maintained through abusive discipline, a repeated rape of his mind and robbery of his identity. But he still wanted to own up to those crimes… Part of it astounded Natasha and made her admire him even more.

Grim satisfaction flashed over James' face, but he shook his head at both of them before storming out of the room.

"Don't tell him it's not his fault." Natasha stopped Steve from following James with a small hand. It was a credit to Steve that he didn't push past her with all that muscle lending him superhuman strength.

"But it wasn't." Steve argued.

"That's not what he wants to hear." Natasha shook her head. "It doesn't serve his idea of morality. He's been brainwashed by the enemy not to care about right and wrong—but now that he's getting that sense back, it's demanding justice from him. By saying that he isn't accountable for what he's done, you're doing exactly what Hydra was doing: making him forget what's good and bad."

"That's ironic, coming from the woman who bends right and wrong all the time." Steve eyed her narrowly.

"I bend right and wrong to help people," Natasha corrected. "And I'm still figuring it out. James is a lot faster than me." She lowered her hand, but kept her eyes trained on Steve's. "Give him some time to think, huh? Let him be."

.

* * *

 _Listen to "The Little Things Give You Away" by Linkin Park_

* * *

How there was a broom closet in Stark's Tower was beyond James. How someone found him in it—after hours of sitting and brooding in silence on the floor of it, back against a shelf, forehead against his bent knees—was also beyond his comprehension. But the thing that stumped him the most was the person belonging to the voice that was now speaking to him.

"Tell him you want some space, next time," Sam said, crouching beside James and shutting the door behind him. Sam didn't need to explain, James knew well enough that Steve was probably frantically searching for him. "That way he won't freak out and search the tower with a fine-toothed comb."

James felt like he couldn't speak if he wanted to, images from last night's dreams having left him raw and spent even before he woke. But of all the people in the building, Sam was perhaps the one that would understand that.

They sat in silence, Sam's shoulder tentatively touching Barnes', but it was likely due to lack of space. James needed the closeness of the room, the limitations of the small space and short walls; it was protective, insulating.

"Sometimes it feels like you're pretending, doesn't it?" Sam broke the silence, but the way he said it didn't sound like he needed James to answer, which James was grateful for. "You only half-way feel the reactions you want everyone to see and it takes effort, putting on a show to prove you're okay. Cause you're not."

That truth stabbed at James' heart, causing him to press his nose even further into his knees, arms tightening around his bent legs. And yet, at the same time, it felt good to hear the truth.

"And then some days, you're all used up from pretending and you can't feel anything at all." Sam went on, though now it sounded as though he were describing his own struggles. They were no less true for James, but the former assassin was beginning to understand that Sam wasn't quite as put-together as he made it appear, and James' ears perked up, listening intently.

"Those are the days when you feel like shutting everyone out, giving as minimal effort as possible, just calling it quits. But you know what the sad part is? The next time you start feeling like you're alive again and you want to connect with those friends, you'll hesitate. You'll say, 'I haven't talked to them for too long, maybe they've moved on without me' or 'Maybe they're upset with me for pushing them away', and you back off, you stay isolated."

James hadn't given it much thought himself, but it was plain that Sam's words were spoken from past experience.

"It's a slippery slope, man." Warm fingers brushed over James' right forearm, a brief contact that communicated what Sam said next, "but it's all in your head, and all of us will understand if you need time alone. And whenever that voice creeps into your head, you shut it up with fact: We're not going anywhere."

Taking a deep breath, James nodded, resisting the urge to flinch when Sam patted at his back.

"You think fact is enough," James whispered, "to fight that voice?" He hoped Sam understood that he wasn't being skeptical, that it was an honest question. He needed confirmation…

"Man, facts are stubborn things." Sam smiled, a brilliant effect in the dimly-lit space. "And when you don't have weapons or armor, all you've got is the truth. _We're not going anywhere_."

James nodded again, a heavy burden lifting from his shoulders, releasing his tongue from its brooding prison. "I don't want to hide, but on the days when I'm worn out, I don't know what truth to hold on to. Who am I, Sam? I'm not 'Bucky' anymore, no matter how much Steve wants me to be. I'm not the Winter Soldier, but I can do all the things that person did." He chanced a look in Sam's direction and the darker man's eyes were soft, sympathetic. "Who _am_ I, Sam?"

"You're James." A voice spoke from above their heads. The door had opened without either of them noticing and it was Natasha's head poking through.

"But _who_ is James?" He asked without missing a beat. "And how do I figure out who he is?"

"Day by day." Sam answered, nodding at Natasha.

Her hand was on the door, as if silently communicating that her visit would be brief. "You're always _something_ , James—even at rest, you _are_ something. You take it with you wherever you go, no matter how little or many resources you have. Posessions can be taken away, even memories, but what you are…" Natasha tapped her fingers against the doorway. "For me, it's fluidity. I mold myself around a situation or around people and I become whatever serves them best. I have certain consistencies—habits, relationships, tendencies— but the rest is all up in the air."

Sam was nodding, but James' mind was wary of the edges around this new information. The next time he looked up, he opened his mouth to ask a question, but Natasha had left just as quickly as she'd appeared.

"What is it for you, Sam?" James was hesitant to ask, but needed the answer badly enough to brave whatever awkwardness the question brought.

Sam was silent, thoughtful as he pushed his feet down to sit cross-legged. "I guess it'd be support. I'm an extrovert, so I get my recharge through being with people, but I also like to give something back. Even before the clinic, I'd seen men and women at their lowest, hitting rock bottom, and there were only two choices: leave 'em or help 'em. I noticed too many people leaving the ones that needed help, so I'd take a deep breath and jump down into the hole with them."

"Support," James repeated to himself.

"I think 'Bucky' would have called it 'playing second fiddle'. I don't mind being the side-kick, cause I sure as hell don't want to be in the lead."

James raised his hands to his head, painfully aware that it was 'hand' and not 'hands', but his left arm mimicked the movement all the same. "I remember Cap trying to find a way into a Hydra base. I was the forest right across from it, hidden in the snow, but I was in charge of cover-fire when their soldiers tried to take out Steve."

Sam nodded. "He told me you were a sniper."

James wasn't sure why he'd mentioned the memory, but another one came and he decided to unravel what his mind was trying to tell him. "When Steve was smaller, before the serum, he had asthma. One winter, we were both having a hard time finding work, couldn't afford heating, and Steve couldn't breathe. I remember holding him," James held his hand out in a curve, as though imitating the hold, "and his body was shaking so hard. He was cold and he couldn't breathe, and I couldn't do anything about it except hold him under all the blankets we could find."

Sam's eyes were wide, probably picturing the two men huddled together, fighting to keep Steve alive.

"And then when I got shipped out to Europe," James winced, trying to understand why these memories were popping up and what they were supposed to mean. "I found out that one of the men under my command was only fifteen." James frowned, rolling his eyes. "He was a big guy, though. Couldn't tell. But I found out. I decided not to tell, but I kept an eye on him. I told him I'd get him home, but it wouldn't be in a casket."

"What happened to him?"

James' mouth twitched into a grin. "Well, hopefully, I made good on my promise. He wasn't captured with the rest of our division because he was on detail, back at camp. When Cap brought us back, the kid told me I was a hero. I tried to keep tabs on him, but being a Howling Commando didn't leave me a lot of free time."

"You like to take care of people. Watch their backs for 'em." Sam suddenly smiled. "That's your thing."

Is that what his brain had been trying to say? "I guess so… hard to do that now, when I'm such a mental case."

"Bucky, we're _all_ mental cases in this tower," Sam tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at Barnes, lifting himself from the floor and offering James a hand to help him up. "It's practically a requirement to gain residency."

"I can hardly take care of myself, let alone…" James brow crumpled and his mind switched gears, forgetting Sam's outstretched hand. "Natasha…"

"What?"

James lifted his head to see Sam's confused face. "Natasha—she said her thing was fluidity. Said she becomes what people need her to be."

Sam crossed his arms, patiently waiting for James to form his thoughts.

"Do you think she's doing that with me?" He wasn't sure if Sam could see the hurt in James' eyes, but he attempted to keep himself neutral. "Is she just… _humoring_ me?"

"Would you be disappointed if she was?"

"Yes." He ground out truthfully.

Sam's fingers twitched and he held his hand out adamantly to James, helping him to his feet.

Sam crossed his arms. "You know the hell she's lived through, she _needs_ to be 'fluid'—Natasha's _never_ had something consistent. Barton is probably the only person who's ever stuck around, and even he was brainwashed by Loki to fight her. Can you blame her?"

"No," James admitted, tying his hair back with the rubber band he had in his pocket. "But I don't have to like it."

"Don't like it? _Do_ something about it," Sam challenged with a mischievous grin. "She did say there were things she holds on to, things that don't change for her." Sam winked. "Maybe you could be one of those things."

James felt like he should have argued, or perhaps put up some resistance to the thought, but he unashamedly nodded instead. Sam looked… well, smug.

Waving James out of the broom closet, he laughed. "You two are the weirdest people I've met, but that might make you perfect for each other. I'm not gonna lie, I ship it." And he enthusiastically chattered about it, testing James' silent patience, as the both of them strode through the hall and entered the elevator.

James frowned at the elevator panel, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. "Why are we going to the roof?"

The devious grin that grew on Sam's face was hard to look away from, and even harder not to share. "Tony's an awesome guy—can multitask like a wizard—I asked him for a special favor."

James shook his head, eyes toward the ceiling. "You're not going to tell me what that means, are you?"

"Nope." Somehow Sam's wide smile got wider.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Run Boy Run" by Woodkid_

* * *

Steve couldn't believe his eyes. Stark had mentioned something about Bucky being on the roof and it had left a nervous feeling in the bottom of Steve's stomach. So when he set foot on the outdoor level of the Tower, he had to take a deep breath and tell himself he wasn't seeing what he was seeing.

Bucky was standing on the ledge of the balcony, looking down at the drop below.

"Bucky?" Steve took a few quick steps forward before breaking into a run. "No! Don't do it!"

But Bucky took that step forward and Steve's heart stopped.

His best friend's body plummeted downward.

"NO!" Steve roared, plowing into the balcony railing so fast that it creaked beneath his hold, his horrified face tilting downward to watch as Bucky dropped through the air like a rock, becoming smaller and smaller with each second.

"Steve—" Sam held his hands out peaceably and Rogers whirled on him, taking him by the shoulders in an ungentle grip.

"What have you done?" Steve shouted into Sam's face. "Why did you—"

"Steve!" Sam's hands clamped around Rogers arms, eyes demanding Steve's focus. "Calm down! Look again."

But he couldn't—he couldn't watch Bucky fall again. Instead, his ears caught the sound of Bucky's awful scream as he descended lower.

And it got louder. And louder.

"How—?" Steve gripped the railing and looked down again, jumping back as a whoosh of air blew against his face, a large _thing_ passing by him as it rose higher in the air. The scream, he realized, was a cry of exhilaration.

Bucky was soaring through the air, Sam's silver falcon wings glinting in the sun as they opened wide with Bucky's arms. He sailed through the air, rising above Stark tower.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Sam grinned, looking like he'd pulled a prank, and the apology faltered on his lips with a tremulous laugh. "I should have warned you beforehand, but I had to get him outside for a while."

"You know," Steve let out a deep breath, finding it difficult to be angry when he could see the overjoyed fun-loving grin on Bucky's face, soaring in a wide circle above them, "Getting someone outside used to mean tossing a baseball around."

"New times, old man," Sam laughed, looked relieved that Steve hadn't pummeled his face in. "He was being the Mopey Soldier and needed something to get his heart pumping again. A baseball wasn't gonna cut it."

Bucky swooped down over their heads, causing them to duck, before he landed on the platform beside them, bringing the wings back into the harness.

"Having fun?" Steve walked toward him, helping to unbuckle the harness around Bucky's chest.

"Yeah, Sam was helping me find my life's purpose." It was obviously sarcastic, but there was no bitterness in Bucky's voice.

Steve nodded, lips pressing into a humorous smile. "That's… uh, that's good. And?"

"Found something to take care of." Bucky's smirk said his answer was an inside joke, but Steve was too pleased to see him in good spirits to care.

.

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 _ **re`cre`a`tion – To tear something down and bring something new into existence**_

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* * *

 _Perspective changes :P I don't like to switch so much, but this chapter would have been harder to do without them. Got a few more ideas in the hopper, but if you have a prompt for this story, lemme know and we'll see if we can insert it :)_

 _Many thanks to_ _ **mmelody6**_ _for the smiley faces in the reviews! As I always say, it's hard to figure out what to write in a review, but even a single word or symbol can make a writer's day!_

 _ **steve r0gers**_ _—oh my goodness, my heart swelled when I read your review. Thank you so much for the compliments!_

 _Thank you to everyone following this story! :D_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, BeautifulSupernova, Clintashalover66, Delena1101, Djenthommus, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight, Lena8993, Maxiekat, Niiroya, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, Slythgurl12, UpYourCupcake, XxStephanieDivaxX, Your-Addictions, blue candlelight 13, drmollydresden, , jadesky1, jeepchick89, , mmelody6, robinsimpiela, sherimi, steve r0gers, sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard,**_ _ **booboo12361015**_ _ **,**_ _and_ _ **twilightbaby93**_ _!_


	15. 15 -Re-animation

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head-canon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story**

 _ **Chapter 15 – Re-animation**_

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* * *

Natasha was rubbing her sore ankle in the entertainment room when Sam, Steve, and James returned from whatever antics they'd performed on the balcony. It was easy for Natasha to see the difference in James after his pep-talk with Sam in the broom closet. She hadn't stuck around to hear the whole of it—even though her ears had been itching; a bad habit from constantly listening in as a way of life—but for once, she felt generous enough to give the gift of privacy.

"Are you all right?" James jumped over the back of the couch to land on the seat next to her with an easy grin.

"Yeah," She nodded, amused by the glow on his face, a smile twitching on her lips. "Are these two getting you into trouble?"

"What makes you say that?" Sam winked at her, setting himself down on the other couch.

"You've all got that look."

"I don't know what kind of trouble you think Captain America and his side-kick the Falcon get into," Sam laid this falcon-wing harness on the coffee table, "but Bucky, here, enjoyed every minute of it. So there."

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, hands resting on his hips as he stood behind the couch and sneered at the harness like it was a dead snake.

"You sure you're okay?" James nodded at her foot. His right hand was twitching and she could see a question in his eye—so tentative was he about accepting and offering touch that she'd begun to recognize when he was asking for permission. She opened her mouth and then shut it again, squinting at him before swiveling around to bring her foot into his lap. James' answering smile was enough to steal her breath as he began to rub circles around her heel.

But she only had a moment to revel in his touch before James was politely summoned to Tony's ground-floor garage by Jarvis. Both Steve and Natasha offered to accompany him to see Stark, wary of the brilliant mechanic's less-than-bedside nature, but James waved both of them off.

There was no denying the tension between him and Stark, proven by the absence of Tony within his own tower. The nerves on James' face—and Steve's—were obvious as they and Natasha strode down the hall and toward the elevator.

"If I'm not back in a few hours, send a rescue team for my body." James smiled wryly at them, entering the elevator and nodding his head at Steve. As James crossed his arms—difficult to do with only one, but somehow he managed it—the dark blue T-shirt he wore stretched at the hems of the sleeves, healthy muscle bulging and straining the thin cotton fabric.

A frowning Steve, however, didn't appreciate the joke. "If you're not back in _half_ an hour, _I'm_ coming in after you." Natasha heard the serious sentiment in his voice and squeezed his elbow once the elevator closed and descended down the shaft.

"It's gonna be fine," Natasha tugged at his arm, but Steve refused to budge and watched the glass elevator as it went lower and lower until they could see it no more. "If you think I'm gonna let you stand there and sulk until he steps out of the elevator again, you've got another thing coming."

Although he looked like he wanted to argue with her, Steve allowed himself to be led back to the entertainment room in the wide living area. Thankfully, Sam was there, adjusting something on the harness of his wings with a screwdriver, a partner in crime if ever Natasha needed one when it came to distracting people.

They fell into easy conversation and eventually Steve was reclining against the cushions of the black leather couch, feet propped up on the coffee table while Natasha inched closer to Sam in curiosity has he worked over the flight pack.

"I swear on a stack of bibles, Steve," Sam was grinning from ear to ear, sounding less than apologetic, "I had no idea you'd be coming out there when you did—I promise I didn't do that on purpose."

"You still scared me half to death." Steve muttered with a shake of his head, sipping at the beer Natasha had slipped into his hand only minutes ago. She knew the alcohol wouldn't do anything for him, but it was the act of the thing that was more important—even Steve needed reminders that he was human now and again. "I have a phone, you know? It would have been that easy to send me a text message—"

"Wait, am I missing something? What happened?" Natasha's brow furrowed.

Sam laughed and nearly dropped the screwdriver in his hand. "Bucky needed a little adrenaline rush, so I took him to the roof and let him put on the wings—" he held up the harness to illustrate, "—and as he was getting ready to jump off the ledge, my friend here," Sam leaned over the coffee table to pat at Steve's foot, "has to show up and get the wrong idea."

"Oh, no," Natasha groaned, looking at Steve with sympathy.

"You don't have to look so broken up about it," Steve rolled his eyes at Sam.

"I had no idea you'd be there." Now Sam looked a little more repentant. "And I'm sorry. Next time, I'll give you a heads up, okay?"

"It's fine," Steve waved a hand at him, forgiveness coming much quicker than Natasha expected. "It was confusing, that's all. I saw his face, Sam. He looked like he was having a good time. He looked alive again. So… thank you for doing that."

"No problem."

Natasha wasn't sure how to manage the silence that followed, feeling like an intruder, and she rose to head to the kitchen nearby. "Oh, hug it out already." She murmured over her shoulder at them with a good-natured jeer.

Sam smirked, but Steve looked lost in thought, staring at his shoe as he continued to nurse the almost-empty beer bottle in his hand.

"Bucky said something about 'finding his life's purpose'. What'd he mean by that?" Natasha heard Steve ask, but from where she was standing within the next room, gathering ingredients for a smoothie, she couldn't hear Sam's reply.

Sam's voice was a different frequency than Steve's, being lower and harder to pick up on, and Natasha couldn't keep her curiosity to herself. Even with her back turned to them and the soft clip of cabinet doors opening and closing while she found various produce, she could hear parts of their hushed conversation.

"Yeah, he's always been like that." Steve's higher-toned reply to Sam drifted to Natasha's ears.

Sam murmured something in not a few words.

"It used to get pretty bad." Steve replied regretfully. "We couldn't afford to keep running me back and forth to the hospital—Bucky joked that we should've moved to the alley behind the doctor's ward so we could walk in whenever we needed—so we had to make do at home. The gas would go out because _everyone_ was using their heaters, the water would stop because the pipes would freeze from the cold, and sometimes we couldn't go out with the snow being so bad."

From what Natasha could put together, he was recalling a time before the war, when he and Barnes had lived together.

"So he'd put the mattress in front of the fireplace and let me soak up his body heat. That was all we could do. I remember one time I got him sick and he was burning up with a fever, but he said it was a good thing. Said it was just that much more heat to keep us both from freezing."

A low reply.

"Yeah, people would say that, but he always had a girl on his arm, so I knew it wasn't true. I heard stories about the first war, soldiers doing the same thing in the trenches to keep warm. Wasn't anything wrong with that. That's just the way Bucky was—the guy that would find the bird with the broken wing, bring it home, nurse it to health, let it fly free and find another bird to patch up." Steve let out a bitter laugh. "I wasn't a little bird after the super-soldier serum, though. I got nervous, thought he'd find someone else to take care of. But he surprised me, found a way to watch my back anyway. Like he was rising to the challenge. Makes me wonder…"

Natasha started cutting a banana to throw into the blender.

"Dr. Zola injected him with a serum, not the same one as mine, but something like it. Dr. Erskine told me the serum would amplify things, not just flesh and bone. He said a good man would become greater and an evil man would get worse—the Red Skull proved that theory true. I wonder if Bucky's determination to help people got amplified."

"Makes sense." Sam said loud enough for Natasha to hear, but the rest of his words were lower. Pressing a button on the blender and liquefying the contents inside, Natasha was letting this information sink in when the blender stopped and Steve spoke again.

"Really?" He responded to something Sam said. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Natasha's eyebrow twitched and she turned her head slightly to peer at them through the doorway. Steve looked slightly frustrated and Sam was beaming widely—like his favorite sports team had just beat Steve's.

"You're not his mom, Steve," Sam laughed. "It doesn't matter what _you_ feel about it."

She wasn't sure why those words made her nervous, but Steve glanced in her direction and locked eyes with her for a moment, almost as if to say, " _Don't screw it up_ _or you'll have me to answer to_." Her head snapped back to look at the blender. What was _that_ all about?

Immediately, a silence fell over the area and Natasha's instincts flared up. Someone was creeping up behind her, trying to catch her off-guard. Not on her watch. But she'd let them think so until the last moment…

A cold, hard, mechanical hand clamped around her elbow.

"You know, Stark, there are better ways of sneaking up on me." She growled with a roll of her eyes, turning around and jolting when she realized who it was. "James!"

"How'd you know I was sneaking up on you?" He was grinning, but adopted a pout.

"The room went quiet—" She peered down at his left arm. His _whole_ left arm. "Tony gave it back to you?"

"More or less," James sighed, bending the metallic appendage at the elbow and wiggling its fingers. "It's different now." He pulled down on the collar of his V-neck, showing her the area that was no longer riddled with wires, but dotted with scars. Natasha's fingers moved to gently stroke at the skin there, surprised at how smooth it was around the tiny divets in his flesh.

When the pads of her fingers brushed over his bicep, she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His blue eyes were looking down at her with such fixation that she felt like blushing—why did he make her feel like that? She wasn't unaware of her attraction to him, but Natasha was wary of it and withdrew her hand immediately.

"Tony added touch sensors." James looked both excited and nervous about this news and pulled the hair away from his ear to show a tiny chip attached just behind the earlobe. "Sends the nerve-information right to my brain, no wires." He looked relieved to be free from wires. Secretly, she was, too.

"Does that mean you can feel this?" She stroked at the smooth metal on his wrist inquisitively, enjoying the feel of the ridges and the mirror-like glint.

"Uh-huh." He nodded, mouth open in awe, wondering what to make of the signals his arm was sending to his brain. "That's…" James paused, watching her fingers on his arm. "That's the first time I've felt anything there since… I guess, 1945."

There was no hesitancy in Natasha's smile—she was flattered to share such a victory with him, but immediately ducked her eyes when she realized they weren't alone in the kitchen.

"You didn't even startle her, did you?" Sam was still grinning at them. "Our turn—show it off already."

Steve was brave enough to step forward and clasp James in a handshake, both of them smiling in wonderment as James processed the new sense of touch, but it took a moment for Sam to be so easy-going. Natasha was puzzled by that, but later put together that the Winter Soldier had been the one to damage his wings in mid-flight. Despite his appearance of confidence and ease, Natasha recognized the signs of someone who was battle-tested and carried regrets.

"The best part about it…" James tilted his head to look down at his arm. Reaching over with his fleshly hand, he pressed three fingers to seemingly random areas of his bicep, causing a twirling mechanism to beep at him before the plates began to shift off of his shoulder and away from the rest of his organic limb.

"Why is that the best part?" Sam's eyebrows came together.

Gripping the rest of the metal appendage by the wrist, James laid it on the countertop behind him and unconsciously brushed his fingers over the hubby remainder of his left arm. "Because… sometimes I just wanna be me, ya know? It's not so hard to manage things with one hand. I kinda got used to it."

Natasha could see that he wasn't being entirely honest, but she had come to understand James well enough in the past two weeks to guess that the arm held too many memories for him.

"You're not the same man, James," Natasha remembered the smoothie she'd been making and poured it into a glass, handing it to James with a wink. "And that's not the same arm."

"No, it's not." He nodded at her in thanks and took the glass, sipping from it. "But it's heavy."

"Can't Tony do something about that?" Steve asked with crossed arms, clearly offended at the thought of Stark giving Barnes anything that would load him down.

"Not—not that kind of heavy," James' face dropped. "Like… the weight of responsibility. I've got a lot to make up for—"

"No, you don't." Steve interrupted, but James held up a peaceable hand, asking the blond to hear him through.

"I have a duty to right as much wrong as I can, now." James amended. "Because you all put a lot of work into me. And I…" Natasha saw his face on the brink of that hollow despair and wanted to strangle whatever demon was ruining his moment of clarity, but he shook his head and seemingly shook off the feeling as well. "I killed Tony's dad." He looked from face to face. "Did you know about that?"

"No." Sam and Steve answered in unison. But when he came to Natasha's face, James demanded nothing but the truth from her.

"Yes."

"That's why he's been avoiding me—sorting it all out in his head. He said he thought about putting a self-destruct failsafe in my arm before he gave it back. But then Tony," James shook his head at the ground with a grin, "He said he'd rather bill me for the arm. He said I was running on credit, and I could clear my debt by making the world a safer place to live in." And then he rolled his eyes. "Although, I could be censuring out a lot of curse words."

.

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 _ **re`an`i`ma`tion—to restore to life, to revive**_

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* * *

 _The site hasn't let me log in since the day before yesterday :( I'm gonna aim for every other day with uploads. Everyday is getting a little too complicated. I don't think I've got any more short chapters in me, the rest of these are gonna be looooong. By the way, sorry there's no song for this chapter, but it was six pages on my document loader already and I didn't think I could find a tune that long anyway. Tunes are coming for the next one ;)_

 _By the way, brace yourselves, the next few chapters are going to get hardcore—as in, I'm adding a disclaimer for violence. It won't be too graphic, but I need to put a disclaimer on it anyway…_

 _Replying to reviews for Chapter 14:_

 _ **Stever0dgers:**_ _Thank you for bringing up such a valid point with Bucky's use of only one hand—I could see everything in my head, but I don't always communicate the details :P_

 _ **Mmelody6:**_ _I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! :D_

 _ **BeautifulSupernova**_ _: You flatter me :) I try to stay in tune with the movies depictions of these characters, so I hope I get a lot of it right :)_

 _ **KnowInsight:**_ _And a great big smiley face to you, too! :D_

 _ **Qweb:**_ _I know, it wasn't really on purpose, though! But I think we all know that men laugh things off like that a little easier than women do :P_

 _ **Avengers 2015**_ _: Thank you so much for your review! I'm hoping you like the rest of it as well :)_

 _And a big thank you to all followers!_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging,Agana of the night, Avengers 2015, BeautifulSupernova, Clintashalover66, Delena1101, Djenthommus, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight, Lena8993, Maxiekat, Niiroya, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, Slythgurl12, TheWeepingRaven, UpYourCupcake, XxStephanieDivaxX, Your-Addictions, blue candlelight 13, drmollydresden, , jadesky1, jeepchick89, , mmelody6, robinsimpiela, sherimi, steve r0gers, sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard, Amiable Loner, booboo12361015,**_ _and_ _ **twilightbaby93!**_


	16. 16 -Re-application

_Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel and this is my own headcanon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 16 – Re-application**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "The Drive To Paris" by John Powell_

* * *

Natasha would gladly ignore all else to spend as much time with Barnes as she could, but duty was calling. And calling. And calling. She'd managed to avoid this for as long as she could…

"Natasha," Nick Fury's scolding tone was perceptible even through the crackly phone reception. "You know you're not helping _him_ by staying there."

"Yes, I am." She whispered defensively, trying to find a room away from any ears. She didn't need to ask Nick who he was talking about, they'd both agreed James' name and previous title were off limits on _any_ channels of communication. Too many people were looking for him. "Can you give me a little more time?"

"The window on this one is closing," Nick sternly reminded her in regards to a Hydra lead she'd been tracking. "You'll help _your friend_ better by taking his _opponents_ down." Hydra was another name off limits. "You want him safe? Keep the hunters off his scent or take 'em out altogether."

Natasha didn't mean to hesitate, but Nick seemed to read her mood over the phone.

"The sooner you leave is the sooner you can get back."

"They're never going to stop looking for him." Natasha shook her head, partly despaired and partly angry. There was no happy, carefree future for James Barnes, but the least she could do was clear his path a little.

"Never say never," Nick chided. "As time goes on, they'll realize they're losing their grip on him and he'll become less interesting. It's an uphill battle now, but it won't always be." Nick paused. "Have you told him about my offer, yet?"

"He's not stable enough," Natasha answered immediately, protectively. "He's not ready."

Fury had seen in James another Natasha, an asset molded by evil, but useable by either side. However Natasha knew James wasn't ready for that. _She_ wasn't ready for that. Why it mattered to her so much was a mystery, but then so many things were these days—the way she couldn't sleep at night, hoping James would show up at her doorway and ask if he could join her; the way he'd ask for permission to touch her, such a small thing that would light up his face; and the way he was always looking for her, not always needing to be near her, but just _knowing_ where she was and keeping tabs on her.

"Something tells me he _never_ will be ready if I leave it up to you." Nick sighed. "I need you to be objective about this. Understand, he has a better chance of survival if he keeps up the fight, but on _our_ side."

"Well, don't hold your breath for an understudy of Captain America," Natasha said in exasperation. "Three days, Fury. That's all I'm asking for."

"Tomorrow." Nick answered adamantly. "Same place. Same time."

.

* * *

 _Listen to "They Think He's The Shooter" by James Newton Howard_

* * *

Natasha wanted to be candid with Barnes, but how was she supposed to start a conversation like this?

" _Hey, by the way, I'm heading out tomorrow to eliminate a Hydra threat so they don't figure out you're in Tony Stark's tower and come to blow it up. Oh, and you can't come because I want to keep you safe for as long as possible. But whenever you do set foot outside the tower, Nick Fury is going to ambush you for his super-squad. He's probably already got a suit ready with the letters S and A flashing across the chest: Sergeant America! I hope you like bright blue stretch leggings."_

Imagining his toned, leg-hair-covered calves in stretchy blue material was enough to make her laugh. Man, she was a crackup in her own head.

"What's so funny?" That familiar mischievous voice said from behind her. _James_. Of course James knew where she was, who was she fooling? He was probably the only one she would consider calling her equal in stealth.

Natasha sighed, turning to face him and startling him by suddenly taking his metallic hand. "You. That's what's funny."

"You think of me when I'm not around? Cute." He smirked.

"I'll think of you while I'm away," Natasha said truthfully—it wasn't hard to admit, either— with as calm a face as she could manage.

James' face dropped. "Going somewhere?"

She nodded, pressing her lips into a line.

"Be gone for long?" He frowned, running his thumb along her palm.

"I promise I'll come back when I can."

"Can't…" His teeth were grinding, jaw muscles clenching under his sharp cheekbones. "Can't someone else… be _gone_?" She could see that he knew better than to ask her for specifics. "Can't they do what you're gonna do?"

She wished the same thing herself, but she couldn't show him that, it'd make him feel worse. "No."

James nodded, glowering at the floor and then raised his head enough to look her in the eye. "Dangerous?" Those piercing blue eyes demanded honesty.

Natasha kept her face passive. "Nothing I can't handle."

Nodding again and gripping her hand tighter, James led her away from the dark, quiet room. As they walked back to the entertainment room, joining the small crowd in front of a movie, he kept looking back at her as though he were checking to make sure she was still there. Not that she could escape him with his hand gripping hers like that. And… not that she wanted to escape.

He didn't say anything much for the rest of the evening, answering questions with a single word and not contributing to conversation. They took the hint. He must have been in one of those moods. But Steve but continued to speak with smiles and encouragement, as though he didn't need James to speak if he didn't want to. It was a method of Sam's that was beginning to rub off on the previously inexperienced Steve, and _that_ gave Natasha hope. Hope that her absence wouldn't set James back and turn him into a zombie so soon after finding his optimistic side.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Best Part" by Gungor_

* * *

Natasha didn't listen to music much, but there was a song floating through her head that she couldn't shake:

 _How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around? I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown._ What was the name of it? _I hope that you see right through my walls… The world is coming down on me and I can't find a reason to be loved. I never wanna leave you but …_

Arms. That was the name of it.

"What are you humming?" James' breath tickled the hair behind her ear as he nuzzled closer to her beneath the sheets. She knew he hadn't been sleeping, knew from the way he'd molded his body along her spine and legs, and the way he'd rested his hand on her hip. She could practically hear him counting her breaths.

"Song running through my head. _I try my best to never let you in, to see the truth, and I've never opened up. I've never…"_ She couldn't say it aloud, not yet— _I've never truly loved till you put your arms around me_. "… _you put your arms around me and I'm home_."

Home. Something she'd previously thought of as an outdated concept. But home, she was beginning to realize, was linked to people. Nick, Hawkeye, Steve. She loved all of them unashamedly. And now James…

"Yeah." James reached around her hip and squeezed her hand, his chin brushing at the back of her head as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair and then the skin at her neck, just below her earlobe. Natasha could feel the tension in his muscles. It was as though she was a pool of water and he was a sponge, desperately trying to soak in as much of her as possible. It stirred her to pity.

"I'll be back soon." She murmured quietly, squeezing his hand back.

"Yeah." James repeated, non-committedly. His sigh of bitterness warmed against her neck.

To his credit, he said nothing further—no pleading with her to stay, no pressuring her for information on where she was going, no confessions of deep affection. Neither of them really needed to say it, it was a given, a gradual ascent into something undeniably firm.

Did they care about each other? Yes.

Would one ever betray the other? No.

Would one kill to keep the other safe? Yes.

Would one die to keep the other safe? Yes.

That was all that mattered, right? And the same could be said of Barton and Steve, Natasha knew, but the difference was that Barton and Steve only dipped their toes into the secrecy and danger Natasha lived and breathed in. No one had ever sunk quite as deep as she had. Except for James.

She smiled, rolling herself over and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. No, she still didn't believe in fairytale romances, but she did believe in two kindred spirits who had seen the lower levels of hell and were content to strain for the edges of heaven.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Smoke and Mirrors" by Agnes Obel_

* * *

James knew Natasha was sleeping from the shallow breaths she took and the way she'd pulled away from him unconsciously. He raised himself to lean on an elbow, eyes roaming her figure under the single sheet.

Lying on her back with her arms curved around her head, her legs straight and ankles crossed, she reminded him of a ballerina in mid-pose. Her face was tilted toward the left, arm curved down so that the back of her hand rested against her cheek. Natasha could easily have a dancer's body and she'd told James that she'd done ballet as a child. He hadn't asked her anything about it, didn't need to. He knew. She'd been trained in performance just as surely as the _deadly_ arts. He could see it.

Just like he could see that she would be walking into an operation tomorrow that he wouldn't have agreed with. He didn't want control of her, didn't think she was incapable, but that was the thing: he knew she could handle just as much as he could—she'd been at this a lot longer than he had—but he didn't _want_ her in that kind of danger. Just because she could, it didn't mean she had to subject herself to it.

He sighed. There would be no sleep for him tonight. He would stare at her until her image was imprinted in his mind, like the pictures Hydra had burned into his brain, until he could call it up at will. If he looked long enough, would he dream about her while she was gone, instead of the lonely nightmares of ice and darkness and gunshots and blood?

Steve and Sam, Barton and Banner—possibly even Stark—were supportive, sympathetic, but none of them _knew_ his chaotic mind. Not like Nat did. They could handle him on his worst days, but Nat could practically see into his tangled string of brokenness. Nat could wait out his violent outbursts, could protect herself from him if necessary. And Nat could patiently take that string and untangle it. A pat on the back was nice, and a kind word was helpful, but those things did little good when he was sitting on the floor and looking helplessly at his shattered fragments, trying to figure out how in the world he was supposed to put them back together. Natasha would hand him a single piece at a time and help him either throw it away or place it where it needed to go.

Not all of his pieces were in place and he wondered if his hesitancy to see her go was selfish, because he wanted her to help finish this work she'd begun with him. Yeah, he admitted. That was part of it.

The other part was… he could almost smell the scent of Hydra on this op. That's why she hadn't said anything, wasn't it? He didn't know if he was ready enough to face them again, didn't know what kind of danger he'd be putting a team into by just being there. But he prayed to God he would never have to…

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Chasing Pirates—Santigold and Snotty Remix" by Norah Jones_

* * *

James was into the third day and he hadn't done so bad with Natasha being gone. There had been that one night when he'd screamed through that awful dream of Natasha falling from the train in Austria instead of him, but Steve had shown up and slid into bed with him, gathering the shaking man in his arms. His nerves were too frazzled to care that he was clinging to Steve like a child, head ducking into Steve's T-shirt covered chest with his eyes crammed shut, gripping the blond's elbow with his single hand. It had been too daunting for James to consider sleeping with the metal arm yet, and now he was grateful for leaving it on the dresser, certain that he could have crushed even Steve's superhuman bones.

"She fell," James breathed into Steve's shirt.

"She's fine. She'll be back." Steve ran comforting fingers through James' hair, pressing a kiss to James' forehead and rocking Barnes gently in his muscled hold. It quieted Barnes almost as well as Natasha could.

"You'd have been a good father." James sighed, finding his voice again once the tremors of his body stopped.

"Sure, Buck." Steve sleepily rumbled from above James' head.

"Still could be, if you'd get your sorry butt out there."

"Sure, Buck."

Since then, he hadn't suffered the same sleeplessness. But he should've known the peace wouldn't last.

"Sergeant Barnes," He heard from behind him in the kitchen as he gathered the mush that would serve as his dinner. He hadn't completely worked solids into his diet yet, but at least applesauce was back on the menu.

James didn't turn around to see who it was. He didn't need to. "Not a Sergeant anymore. Not unless my rank carries over despite my defection."

"It's not defection if you weren't conscious enough to make decisions." Nick strode quietly over to stand beside him, glancing at the food on the countertop. "You tried cottage-cheese yet?"

"I was conscious enough to kill in the name of Hydra." James said curtly. "And cheese doesn't agree with me. At least, not yet."

"What about hummus?"

"What about you telling me why you're here?"

Nick cocked his head, leaning an elbow against the countertop and eyeing Barnes skeptically. "I could give you three guesses, but I know you're smart enough to figure it out."

"Here to recruit me?"

Nick waved his hand. "Sort of. Why, would you say 'yes' if I did?"

"Probably not. Don't know why you would trust me after I was Hydra's attack dog."

Nick smirked, crossing his arms. "You really don't get it, do you? If I held that against you, I'd have to hold it against Steve, too."

James dropped his spoon, his neck snapping to look at Nick with a frown. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I mean, he was working for Hydra, too, if you really think about it." Nick didn't look phased by the murderous expression on James' face. "Hydra invaded Shield. Hydra was giving us the operations, the targets, the objectives. Captain America worked for Shield, but if Shield was Hydra, then Steve was working for Hydra. Makes sense, right?" Nick put his hand on the countertop and leaned closer to James' face. "I'm not gonna coddle you. I know you can handle the truth. There are some angry people out to get you and your friends. The only way we're gonna stop 'em is if we've got _all_ able bodies. But… that's not exactly why I'm here. Take another shot, what's your second guess?"

"You want me to find something." James could sense that as a fact. "Maybe your other eye." He added as a grotesque joke. He felt like a grotesque joke himself.

"Close." Nick nodded, raising his eyepatch. "But the eye's right here. I need you to help me find something that's gone missing. Something _you_ don't want to go missing."

 _Natasha._ "Natasha?"

"I'm surprised you even needed three guess." Nick lowered his eyes soberly.

.

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 _ **re`app`li`ca`tion: The act of putting something back into special use or purpose**_

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* * *

 _Long chapter is long. And is compensation for your patience for no upload yesterday. Lots going on here, so I'm sorry if it's confusing—I'll answer any questions!_

 _No upload tomorrow, I want to get the next chapter right- Tuesday. Tune in on Tuesday._

 _By the way, the song stuck in Natasha's head is "Arms" by Christina Perry. Not a song I like, but the lyrics were fitting ;)_

 _Response to reviews of Chapter 15:_

 _ **cairistiona7**_ _– Airport waiting! Ugh! But yay for finding good distractions! And thank you for the advice on the "pads" of fingers. I've heard and read the usage of pulps before and never quite understood it myself, but now I know for sure that it's a word I don't care to use :P_

 _ **KnowInsight**_ _– Thank you very much! Yeah, Bucky being given an off-branch of the serum is interesting—it makes me wonder if they're going to address it in Captain America: Civil War._

 _ **stever0gers**_ _– I hope I delivered! :D_

 _ **Qweb**_ _– I pretty sure it would be hard for her not to eavesdrop unconsciously on everything, but I also hope it impacts with the reader how hard she worked to turn that off for James' sake earlier—something she probably wouldn't do for anyone but him ;)_

 _ **Agana of the night**_ _– I understand, I only meant to explain to Qweb that Sam wasn't trying to scare Steve on purpose. And thank you for stating that you liked it, even though you disagreed—it's nice to know that not all disagreements on the internet are messy (and I've had some terribly mean reviews before, so thank you for saying it so nicely!)_

 _ **Mmelody6**_ _– the smileys never ever get old! :D Thank you thank you thank you!_

 _Wow! Six reviews for one chapter! You guys are awesome :)_

 _Big thanks to all followers of this story:_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, Avengers 2015, BeautifulSupernova, Clintasha101, Clintashalover66, Delena1101, Djenthommus, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight,Lena8993, Maxiekat, Niiroya, Nippci, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, Slythgurl12, TheWeepingRaven, UpYourCupcake, XxStephanieDivaxX, Your-Addictions, cairistiona7, drmollydresden, , isabelele, jadesky1, jeepchick89, , mat528, mmelody6, robinsimpiela, sherimi, steve r0gers, sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard, booboo12361015, Amiable Loner, Blackhawk34, DragonCurse4, isabelele,**_ _and_ _ **twilightbaby93**_ _!_


	17. 17 -Re-appropriation

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel and this is my own head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 17 –Re-appropriation**_

 _._

* * *

 _Warning: Graphic Violence_

* * *

 _Listen to "Drone" by James Netwon Howard_

* * *

Natasha was in the back of a van, hands bound behind her back, legs tied together, black bag over her head, and shoulders being squeezed between two large men with guns. But underneath the shroud, she was smiling.

It had taken a long time to set everything up the right way, to make it look like they'd surprised her, but it had been worth it. These men had been sloppy and wouldn't have succeeded except that it was her _intention_ to be taken. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to tell them they were amateurs. If _this_ was the best Hydra was able to do, then her hard work over the last few months—scattering or eliminating the remnants— had been worth it. These agents were the dregs at the bottom of the cup.

Her internal compass told her where she was with every turn and bump in the road, but then the vehicle descended downward and for a moment she thought they'd driven over a ledge—but the echoes screeching from the close walls around the van told her otherwise. Tunnels? After a few minutes, the van abruptly stopped. The back doors squeaked open, and she was pulled by the elbows, tossed onto the concrete ground and left waiting.

Sniff. They were in the sewers, but at a level just under the subway system. Sniff. The faintest exhaust from a large computer. Sniff. Something else. Something metal, giving off an antiquated scent.

Sounds. No one was speaking. She had expected some sort of chatter, but there wasn't any. Just the low beeping of machines, the hiss of exhaust, and the roll of plumbing throughout the bricks walls in the large room. Natasha made the smallest of noises, a grunt as she rolled to lay on her side, testing the atmosphere—a mild echo. The room was as wide and tall, probably fifty feet high and sixty feet wide, and there was a—

Snick! She heard, rather than felt, the sinking of a hypodermic needle into her neck and her nerves sharply protested as her skin was filled with something cold and sickly.

 _Damn it_. A numbing agent. The effect was creeping over her body like a cold sweat and she only had moments to act before her limbs were shut down—jamming her thumb as hard as she could into the wristband on her right hand, she activated the homing signal for Fury. It was silent, but the press of it brought her relief. She'd meant to go underground—not quite so literally—but the signal would be enough for Fury to find.

The sack was pulled from her head where she lay sideways on the ground.

Two men stood over her, but she was aware of more behind her, and a dark-haired man in a combat suit nodded to the other with a short, "Good."

The dark-haired man approached her with a tanned and muscled outstretched hand, taking a fistful of her hair and dragging her across the floor. Natasha gasped at the pain of the strands pulling at her scalp, unable to retaliate while the numbing substance shut down her limbs.

Training had taught her to relocate the pain by doing something else, like biting her lip or flexing a muscle, but all of the signals in her body had turned off and she was left vulnerable to the sensation of several red locks of hair being ripped from their roots. That was new. The pain wasn't unbearable, but this was the first time she'd been made helpless to it. Maybe these guys knew who they were dealing with.

Natasha was hauled into a thin metal chair, wrists bound to the arms of it and ankles bound to the legs of it. _You're not useless. As long as your eyes are working, take stock of what you can and get on with it._

Brick walls. Concrete floors. Puddles of murky water in the corners. Four large, circular openings in the walls. They'd blocked off this area of the sewage system, except for the entrance they'd driven the van through. There were three machines—all very old. One of them was a generator. The one to the left was something Natasha had never seen before, though she'd understood the rudiments of it enough to put the puzzle together: A cryogenics tank.

It should have scared her, but the sight of the antique cryo-tank gave Natasha hope. Fury had been adamant to find all Winter-Soldier related paraphernalia and destroy it. Apparently, they'd missed one. But if Hydra was resorting to _this_ old clunker, then that just confirmed they were desperately running out of resources. It looked like a tall fish tank, twelve feet high and five feet wide, metal casing on either side of the glass front, and a circular-handled port-hole at the top.

On the right side of the generator sat another machine, which _did_ scare Natasha. She shivered as a wave of fear and dread started clinging to her lungs like sharp ice. While she didn't know its official name, she knew its purpose well enough. This monstrosity had wiped James' memory far too many times, had brain-washed him for Hydra's purposes.

Was that their plan? Had they kidnapped her to lure James in? Natasha knew that if he had any idea she was in Hydra's custody, he'd come barreling through the walls to get her back. But maybe… _maybe_ Hydra was only interested in her. Maybe they didn't know where James was. Maybe they had _no idea_ she was associated with James. It was enough hope to calm her, to steady her senses.

"Why are we waiting?" someone whispered to someone else.

"I'm not answering that in earshot of the asset." The voice of the dark-haired man growled.

 _Aw, no villainous monologue explaining your plan?_ Natasha inwardly snorted.

"What if the drugs wear off and she gets out—" the nervous man started to say, but his voice was suddenly drowned out by the firing of two gunshots.

Natasha's eyes twitched to the left where the dark-haired man stood over the crumpled, bloody body of the nervous man.

"Anyone _else_ have any annoying questions, or can you all do as you're told?" He called to the remainder of agents.

No one said a word. But they didn't need to. They'd already given Natasha enough information to report to Fury.

 _Hydra's down to its last legs. Recruited staff: inexperienced. Leadership: likely to go rogue when all assets are disbanded. They're scavenging for outdated equipment and likely attempting to replace the Winter Soldier because they realize he's out of their grasp._ Good news for James, but bad news for her if they succeeded in wiping _her_ mind. It was a possibility she wouldn't ignore, but until either Nick sent backup or the chemicals in her system burned out, there wasn't a thing she could do to stop it.

A tall man approached the dark-haired man and ducked his lips to the dark man's ear, whispering so Natasha couldn't hear. They did know she could read lips, didn't they?

 _The technician is two hours out. Says he knows how to work the chair and the tank._

"Good," The dark-haired man nodded, "Cause I sure as hell don't."

Two hours. She could already feel the effects of the drugs wearing off, though she wouldn't let on that it was so, intending to milk that weakened performance for all it was worth. Two hours. More than enough time for her to recover, break out, and contact Nick Fury. Piece of cake.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Esmerelda" by Ben Howard_

* * *

Steve braced himself as Bucky tried to push past him. "We need a plan." Steve firmly reminded him.

"I didn't have to ask for your help." James stopped trying to get through the hall that led to the elevator. "I could do it alone, but I'm not stupid."

"I know you could do it alone," Steve held up his hands, eyes never leaving Bucky's erratic gaze. He looked frazzled and angry, but somehow also controlled, like his body was the iron casing around a roaring lion that was trying to escape. "But you did the right thing, coming to me. You asked for help and I'm giving it to you the best way I know how: We _need_ a _plan_."

"Then stop wasting more time and make one already!" James hissed, stepping back and allowing Steve to lead him to the dining room.

Fury had brought a handful of maps and set them out on the table—it probably wasn't necessary, being in Stark Tower where a screen was never far and a hologram could call up whatever terrain he needed to see, but Steve was particular about the way he did things, and Nick respected that. Nothing beat the crinkle of paper beneath his fingers or the harsh line of a charcoal pencil.

"We created listening zones in these areas," Nick indicated on the map with a pointed finger. "We'd visit these locations and find nothing, even though surveillance told us otherwise. Heat signatures, power signatures—they were _there_ , but they _weren't_. Natasha has been key for infiltration in a number of ops, and we didn't think this one would be any different. But when we were monitoring her, her signal gradually got weaker and weaker until we couldn't track it anymore and she blended in with all the other frequencies. That was an hour ago."

"They were underground." Hawkeye guessed, and Steve turned to look over his shoulder to make sure Bucky was still there. Yep. Still there. And glowering as darkly as he could manage.

Nick nodded. "Normally, I wouldn't worry about it. They weren't very professional about how they kidnapped her and I've seen her in worse hands. We could probably roll in there and find her sitting on top of a heap of bodies, sipping coffee and looking over their documents." Nick picked up a piece of paper and slid it across the table where it landed in front of Steve. "Except that we think they've taken her to the same coordinates as _this_ thing."

Steve didn't know what to make of it, but there were formulas scratched in quick handwriting and a picture of… well, he didn't know what to make of it. "I don't know what that is."

" _He_ does." Nick inclined his head toward Barnes, who was leaning around Steve's shoulder to get a better look at the paper, eyes widening when he saw what it was. Something creaked and Steve took a step back, realizing that Bucky was gripping the edge of table and causing it to break under his metal hand.

It took a good amount of bravery for Steve to reach his hands out and set them over Bucky's wrist, eyes taking in his friend's horrified and angry expression as he slowly untangled Bucky's talon-like fingers from the table's cracked surface. "What is it?" Steve's heart dropped, dreading the answer.

"Cryo-tank." Bucky barely breathed the word. "From… the beginning."

"They're gonna freeze Tasha?" Hawkeye was incredulous.

"No," Steve tried to answer calmly, but the word was too loud to be anything but adamant. "We're getting there, first."

"They've had her for an hour, Cap." Hawkeye said with reluctance. "Banner's not here, Stark is God-knows-where—"

"We'll leave without them, if we need to," Steve was beginning to feel the panic well up in his chest, probably the same panic that had gripped Bucky half an hour ago. He'd been right, they were only wasting time at this point—

"Bucky?" Steve turned to look at him, but the man was gone. "Damn it."

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* * *

 _Listen to "It's Happening Again" by James Newton Howard_

* * *

Natasha's eyes snapped open. No touch or sound had woken her—it was just a feeling. Something was different.

A grey-haired man in a knitted sweater and glasses was walking around the generator between the cryo-tank and that horrific chair. The technician had come early. It couldn't have been two hours already. Or maybe the drugs were still lingering in Natasha's system. No matter, she was able to flex her arm and leg muscles and these rookies hadn't relieved her of her armbands. In their defense, the armbands were thin and easy to miss, having been sewn into the lining of her jacket. Still, they should have known better.

"Just tell me if you can make it work," The dark-haired, tanned man addressed the portly technician.

"If I don' do dis right, dese things'd kill 'em! You wan' 'em to die? Fine by me," The technician spoke in a heavy drawl. "Dese machines take precision and _patience_ , Ruger. You brought me here fer a reason, now lemme do ma job!"

 _Them?_ Natasha nearly rolled her eyes. _As in, me_ and _James? You've only got_ one _of those—what are you going to do, have us tag team it? Ugh, you're a disgrace to villains everywhere, you bunch of—_

Thud!

Natasha craned her sore neck to look around and noticed that one of the agents had fallen to the ground.

Thud! Another body dropped to the ground.

"What da hell—" The technician put a hand over his chest, looking around in terror. "You tol' me it'd be safe!"

"Shutup." Ruger pushed past the technician, eyes scouring the openings for any sign of intrusion. "Do what you came here to do and shut up." Lifting a slow hand and speaking into the black speaker on his chest, Natasha read his lips rather than heard him speak: "Crows nest, be alert."

Natasha's head swiveled as someone emerged from the shadows, coming up behind one of the agents and slicing his throat as another one took aim. The dark figure used the dead man's body as a shield and then launched it, causing the shooter to fall backward.

James. It could only be James. The person Natasha wanted most to see, and yet the person she wanted furthest away from this situation. With a reluctant sigh, she raised her chair and put her weight on her feet, rolling the chair until it hit a wall. It creaked under the pressure of her exertion, allowing her hands enough space to slide out of her bonds. An agent came running at her, shouting in surprise as he aimed a weapon at her and she froze where she was.

Natasha smiled. _If you've got a gun, use it_. She mentally scolded him. _Last chance, buddy. One, two, three—_ She lurched forward, flipping her feet up and over her head, crashing the chair down on the armed man and gaining enough wiggle-room to free her feet. Snatching up the man's weapon, she fired a shot at his head and then whirled to train her weapon on whomever was left.

James had easily dispatched five men already, his hair swaying around his face as he moved swiftly and efficiently. Natasha allowed herself a few seconds to watch him—there had never been any time to admire how fast he was, or how quickly he processed the threats around him, compensating with strategy and an immense amount of focus. It stirred something in her, seeing his handsome figure striking powerfully at his opponents, thin black jacket stretching across his broad chest. But, sadly, playtime was over.

"Ruger," Natasha whispered, looking for the dark-haired man among the bodies littering the ground. The technician was still working over the generator between the machines, but there was no sign of the dark-haired leader anywhere. "James?"

James' head snapped in her direction.

Natasha hesitated for a moment, eyes wide as she tried to read his expression. Did he recognize her? Or had he lost himself to the fight, somewhere between muscle memory and adrenaline? "James," she said his name again, walking toward him slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"Natasha," he uttered her name in relief, standing completely still. "You dropped off the map. Fury said—"

"What a mother hen." Natasha rolled her eyes. "I had it under control."

"You were tied to a chair." James reminded her with a raised brow and a cocky grin.

"Would that have stopped you—"

Someone was creeping up from behind her. Ruger. It must have been. Natasha allowed him to "take her by surprise" and he grabbed her arm, pulling it painfully behind her back, as he wrestled the barrel of a gun underneath her chin. James would take care of this idiot, she had no doubt.

"Put the gun down." Ruger ordered, shuffling his body behind Natasha's and pressing the gun to her throat until she felt like it was choking her. James made no movement.

"I said," Lowering the gun, Ruger fired a shot at Natasha's left leg, causing her to cry out when an explosion of blood and cold shock erupted in her calf, "Put. The gun. Down."

"James," Natasha moaned, making Barnes' eyes burn with rage at Ruger, "Do you remember the Russian scientist?"

"Shut up," Ruger warned her, squeezing his arm tighter around her waist.

"I was guarding him, but you killed him—do you remember how?" _Take the hint, Barnes, shoot him!_

"I said _shut up_ ," Ruger repeated, spit flying from his mouth and landing on her cheek.

"I'm not gonna shoot him through you, Nat." James looked offended that she would even suggest it, eyes trained on the man standing behind her. "A bullet's too soft for him." He dropped the gun, taking a step toward Ruger. "I'm gonna make you regret you ever laid a finger on her."

"You don't have a gun," Ruger reminded him, likely grinning, though Natasha couldn't see.

"I don't need one," James snarled before he became a blur of action.

Natasha was shoved to the side, her world spinning as her head collided with the concrete, but she heard the second shot go off and she heard the sounds of scuffle. Hands against the floor, she shook her head and tried to raise herself up, but the room was swaying and she couldn't focus her eyes. A howl of pain echoed through the room as well as the grizzly snap of bone and the sinking of a blade into flesh.

Unable to trust her sense of balance just yet, Natasha rolled over onto her side to see what remained of the two men. Ruger was on his back, down for the count, his left leg bending awkwardly at the shin only a few inches below his knee. James was staggering toward her, dropping to his knees beside her leg and gently handling the area around the bullet wound.

"Passed right through," He breathed in relief, noting that bone hadn't been struck by Ruger's round. "Thank God." His hands slid around her waist and under her back, lifting her slowly to sit up.

The side of her face pressed against his shoulder, instantly wet. "You're bleeding." She lifted a hand to wipe it from her face before her fingers were pulling at the stab-hole in the jacket. "A lot."

"I'll be fine." James shook his head. "Can you stand?"

"Head's spinning," Natasha grumbled, attempting to right herself but falling into James' hold. He sighed in relief, tightening his hold and obviously enjoying her closeness, but Natasha could only feel the frustration of a long day in which her body hadn't been following commands either due to drugs or injuries. Scooping her up and carrying her under her knees and shoulders, James rose, kicking at Ruger's body as he strode by it. Just as Natasha was about to protest that they weren't finished, James suddenly stumbled and she toppled onto the floor again.

Bending herself at the waist in mid-air — an attempt to keep her head from being hit again—she collided painfully with a wet section of the ground and craned her neck to see that James had been struck by something.

A dart. In his neck.

Flit! Flit! Two more darts—one in his right shoulder, and the other ricocheting off of his metal arm.

"James!" She tried to crawl toward him, but something was pressing against her injured leg. A foot. Someone was standing over her—correction: standing _on_ her. Natasha tilted her head upwards—a man in black body armor, goggles concealing his face except for the malicious grin pulling at his leathery lips. The foot pressed harder against her bloody limb, causing a shriek to squeeze itself out of her lungs.

James was on his hands and knees, gasping for air and gagging as Ruger hobbled up from behind him, pulling one of the darts from Barnes' neck and tossing it to the floor.

Natasha had come into this assignment believing it was being handled by rookies, but now she knew she'd been played. More agents spilled from the circular openings in the wall and surrounded them, guns trained on her and James.

For the first time that day, she was beginning to feel like she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

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 _ **re`appro`pri`ation: the act of taking something back, reclaiming a belonging**_

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 _Dun Dun DUUUUUUNNNNNNN! Help me with typos, friends! Editing this one later this afternoon and I have most of the next chapter written, so I'll try to upload it tomorrow, but likely it will be on Thursday._

 _Response to reviews for chapter 16:_

 _ **Agana of the night:**_ _Thank you! I'm always concerned about the pacing—I've always got the details planned out, but I hesitate over what's relevant and how fast everything should be moving._

 _ **Mmelody6:**_ _thank you for the continuing smiles! :D_

 _ **ALonesomeAuthor, A Study In Blogging, Agana of the night, Avengers 2015, BeautifulSupernova, Clintasha101, Clintashalover66, Delena1101, Djenthommus, Horsemadgirl, KnowInsight,Lena8993, Maxiekat, Niiroya, Nippci, Pinocchio1013, Rafanan, Slythgurl12, TheWeepingRaven, UpYourCupcake, XxStephanieDivaxX, Your-Addictions, cairistiona7, drmollydresden, , isabelele, jadesky1, jeepchick89, , mat528, mmelody6, robinsimpiela, sherimi, steve r0gers, sugarhighjedi, totaltwihard, booboo12361015, Amiable Loner, Blackhawk34, DragonCurse4, isabelele,**_ _and_ _ **twilightbaby93**_ _!_


	18. 18 -Recitation

_Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel and this is my own head-canon._

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 19 – Recitation**_

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* * *

 _WARNING: Violence and terror_

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 _Listen to "Get Him On The Plane" by James Newton Howard_

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Natasha couldn't remember passing out on the concrete, but she was instantly awake whenever a hand embedded itself in her hair and pulled her to her feet. The grasp was too week to belong to Ruger, though the repeated injury to her scalp was no less painful. Sure enough, when her eyes focused again, Ruger was standing in front of her, leaning against his long firearm for support as his gruesome leg stuck out to the side. Either he was in too much shock to notice or he had the gift of ignoring immense pain.

In lightning-quick speed, James flew past him and grabbed the man holding Natasha's hair in a choke-hold. The man instantly let go and was raised up by his neck as James closed his metal fist and squeezed until something in the gurgling throat gave out with a final sound of life.

"I said don't touch her!" James roared into the dead man's face, throwing him down and murderously searching for any who dared to take a step in his direction. Natasha waited helplessly for another volley of darts to fly through the air—how many had James been struck with already?—though she knew that with his heightened metabolism from the serum, it would take more than a few to floor him. But her fear was unfounded—no darts came.

"Fine, we'll make _you_ do it," Ruger limped toward James with a devious grin Natasha didn't understand. "Icarus flew into the sun wearing…" Ruger seemed to be waiting for an answer. Natasha's brow furrowed and she whirled to face James as he robotically ended the phrase.

"…wax… wings." James eyes went hollow and his form went rigidly straight.

Oh, no. Natasha's heart fluttered.

Natasha, trying to shrug off the hands that held her, tried desperately to make eye contact with James, but his expression was blank, eyes dead. Trigger word, she suddenly realized: code embedded in his subconscious to make him obedient even without the chemicals that had once been in his arm.

"James," She said in a stern voice. " _Bucky_ , don't let them do this to you."

Another command was given and James' head turned to Natasha. His strong hands lifted her and she was sailing through the air before she knew it, colliding with a table and causing papers to fly everywhere. But when he approached her again, she was already on her feet, ready to defend herself, though not quite settled on a plan of attack. She didn't _want_ to attack James—any more than she'd wanted to attack Hawkeye when Loki had stolen his mind—but the code-words had rendered James blank and unresponsive to her.

 _No, no, no!_ Natasha wanted to scream. The men behind James laughed in amusement and Natasha shuddered as she took a step back on her injured limb.

"Nat," He breathed shallowly, and the air caught in her throat.

 _Nat?_ He was coming at her again, but slower this time.

 _Nat?_ His features softened and his mouth was quirking and it looked as though he was warning her. Defending herself against the sluggish attack, Natasha began to have hope that he was either regaining control or had been acting the whole time. Deflecting another set of soft blows, Natasha realized they were staging a fight for the audience that was now trotting to surround them.

"Steve's coming," James whispered as low as he dared, throwing false punches toward her face and a lazy kick to her side.

They were waiting. That's what was going on. It wasn't a hope her heart was singing, it was an infallible fact: Of course Steve knew where James was. Of course he would be coming after him. And if Natasha knew Steve, he was bringing every one of heaven's angels to bury this place.

Natasha was flung backward, but not by James. Someone came up from behind James and was pressing a hypodermic needle into his neck. Roaring in frustration, James reached behind him and pulled the man over his head, flinging the body down against the ground with a loud boom.

"You think I'm stupid?" Ruger was standing behind him as James felt to his knees. "I can _see_ you pulling punches."

Natasha's breath caught in her throat as the veins on Barnes' neck and face started throbbing visibly, his shaking hand closing around the needle that was still in his neck. He pulled it out with a gasp, gagging for a moment before grasping his head in his hands. Dark locks of his unbound hair fell around his terrified eyes as they met Natasha's.

Ruger pointed at the groaning James before aiming a thumb at the bulky, covered machine in the far corner. "Pick him up. Get him in the chair."

James was hauled to his feet by three men at the same time Natasha felt a twinge in her own neck from a mystery needle, a creeping numbness flooding her senses. Though she told her limbs to fight against her captors, her body was moving much too slow and she could only swat weakly at the hands that were dragging her back to a chair. James was having a similar battle and struggled against the three Hydra agents that pulled him closer and closer to the hideous throne where memories were stolen.

"No, no, no," James mumbled, digging his feet into the ground as they tugged him forward. The terror on his face made Natasha's heart break and she attempted to move toward him, but only managed to flop herself down from the chair she was perched on. Concrete smacked against her face and she slithered across the floor, heart sinking as the agents watched her in amusement. If they weren't even bothering to stop her, then they didn't consider her a threat—something she could use to her advantage.

"Do you want the mouth-guard or not?" Ruger held up a piece of black rubber.

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* * *

 _Listen to "An Ending" by Peter Broderick_

* * *

Natasha wanted to scream, wanted to tear Ruger apart with her bare hands, crawling faster toward James and the machine. Frightened beyond rationality as they towed him, James let out a whimper, and the noise struck Natasha's heart like a shot of adrenaline.

 _ **No.**_ A blazing fire built in Natasha's chest, burning its way to her throat and clearing her mind of numbness. _I will never let you wipe his mind again._

Absolute terror filled James' sweating face and he screamed, trying to pull away from the hands that were pressing him into the chair, but his limbs weren't responding and his savage and animalistic cries filled and echoed through the tunnels, slicing through the air with an inhuman distress.

But Natasha was so distraught by his cries that her mind turned off her ears to save her sanity. _Focus_ , she reminded herself. _You're not going to let them take his memories, find what you're looking for and act quickly._ Grasping a chair by the leg, Natasha used a burst of energy to leap forward, raising the chair over her head and bringing it down with a crash against the machine's generator. Sparks flew, lights fluttered, and agents attempted to swarm the machine, but Natasha was bringing her weapon down blow after blow against the vile technology that could rob her lover of his soul!

James managed to roll himself from the seat, collapsing on the floor with deep gasps. A random hand lashed out at Natasha, throwing her away from the sparking machine and onto the floor beside James, who reached out with both hands to clutch her body against him.

"Natasha," His breathy voice cracked, raw from the screams that had ripped themselves from his throat. His hold around her tightened and she could feel the fast and heavy thud of his heartbeat against her chest. But then a boot collided with her ribs and Natasha let out the breath her lungs couldn't keep in.

The arms that had been surrounding her in comfort now reached around her to grab the boot of the agent standing over them, twisting it and causing the man to fall backward. Natasha was once again raised to her feet, but James put up a fight and threw an iron fist against the leg of the same agent that had kicked her. The agent's foot was now turned in the opposite direction, like a doll with its leg twisted the wrong way, and the agent howled in pain as James shouted above the chaos.

"Don't! Touch! Her!" Spit flew from his feral lips and he stood in front of Natasha protectively, crouching with his hands raised defensively.

Natasha's mind blurred as the next events unfolded, her left leg throbbing distractingly and her head reeling after having endured so many blows.

Blink. James was standing in front of her.

Blink. "—other one hasn't been damaged." The technician said to Ruger, who responded with, "Do it."

Blink. James' limp body was being dragged toward the cryogenics tank.

A trickle of blood ran from his head as he sagged in the agents' arms, being carried up a set of steps to the top of the tank. Natasha jerked, but her hands and legs were tied down—when had they put her back in the chair? The loud crank of old metal filled Natasha's ears as they opened the top hatch to the ancient cryogenics tank, one agent standing over the port hole and two hauling the unmoving James.

"James!" She shouted, hoping to rouse him, but as he lifted his head, she realized he hadn't been unconscious. But he looked bone-weary tired of fighting.

"Don't watch," He called down to her in a defeated voice. "Natasha, please, don't look."

"Just drop him in already," Ruger waved a hand at the men atop the tank. Doing as they were told, the two agents released their hold on James, unceremoniously letting him fall through the hole and into the glass tank.

Natasha gasped, relieved when she realized it was full of water to cushion his fall, and watched as James' flailing limbs desperately kicked against the liquid to try and open the hatch again. But the agents above slammed the lid down, rotating the circular handle to lock it, and she could see the panic starting to take hold of James as she counted the seconds since he'd last taken a breath.

"He'll drown!" Natasha shrieked, fighting against her restraints, but no one seemed to hear her and the agents took their precious time walking down the steps before standing in front of the control panel.

"James," She ground out, tears obscuring her vision, and guilt eating at her heart. She couldn't just sit there, she had to do something! But the terrible truth worked its chilly way down her spine as the tank started to freeze over. James was still flailing, pounding against the glass with his hands, but his movement paused in mid-blow, a grimace freezing on his face as ice coated his now-unseeing eyes.

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 _ **re`ci`ta`tion: to repeat aloud from memory**_

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 _This was so hard to write and might have been hard for a few of you to read. Especially if you've ever been in a situation where you had to watch your best friend suffer and you weren't able to do a thing about it. Resolution tomorrow (I hope). I'm gonna burn the midnight oil on the next chapter because… well, I'm like you: I need the closure. I need to see them all safe again._

 _Thanks for the reviews:_

 _ **KnowInsight:**_ _Yeah, that's what I was thinking!_

 _ **Mmelody6:**_ _Thank you for being so consistent! :)_

 _ **Isabelele:**_ _Thank you very much—I try to upload once every two days (but sometimes my brain works overtime and new chapters happen every day)_

 _ **TardisAJB:**_ _I know, right? But I think cliffies are the worst when you have to wait a super long time to have a resolution (like having to wait another year to see Steve and Bucky reunited on the screen! Ugh!)—and I promise that will never be the case with my stories! Next chapter's coming tomorrow or the next day, breathe, we can do it! (and don't worry about not reviewing past chapters. If you ever get around to it, that's great, but thank you for reviewing now)_

 _ **Mat528:**_ _Strong and vulnerable women are all I can wrap my head around—being a military wife, and having friends that are military wives, has taught me a lot about how tough some ladies can be, but also how utterly flowery and feminine they can be at the same time!_

 _And a big thank you to all followers! I'd write all of your names here like I normally do, but I'll add that a bit later—I thought it'd be more important to get the new chapter up!_


	19. 19 -Reorientation

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 19 – Re-orientation**_

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 _Listen to "A Great Divide" by Dustin O'Halloran_

* * *

Natasha's eyes went dark, her heart barely beating after watching James' traumatic struggle in the cryogenics tank, but her ears picked up on the technician's complaints that she'd damaged the generator pretty badly. Good. At least her tussle had accomplished something.

Ruger replied, "Let me know when you're done. Don't bring him out of the tank until she's been _processed_ first." Didn't _that_ sound lovely…

Blackness.

"Natasha?"

 _What?_

"Natasha?"

 _What do you want? "Process" me and get it over with already._

"Come on, Tasha. Wake up."

 _Hawkeye?_ "What are you doing here?" She managed to croak. Blink, blink- that goofy smile plastered on Clint's face as he hovered over her... She'd been laid out on the floor. Hydra agents littered the ground.

"Saving your sorry—"

"I'm not gonna ask you again!" Sam's angry shout drifted to Natasha's ears and she sat up with Barton's help. Sam was stepping on Ruger's neck, weapon trained at the cruel man's head, and demanding information, though Natasha recognized the effort as useless. Whatever Sam wanted from Ruger, he wasn't going to get it that way.

"Where's Steve?" Natasha growled as Clint helped her to her feet, but her eyes found the muscular blond before Barton was able to point at him. "Where _the hell_ were you?" She demanded.

Steve slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder from where he stood in front of the cryo-tank, his tortured expression eating away at some of the anger in Natasha's tensed chest. "We got here as soon as we could—"

"You should have stopped him from leaving!" She shouted, limping toward Steve as quickly as she could with her injured leg. "They almost took him!" Her eyes were wet, her mouth was quivering, and her face was shaking with barely-controlled rage. "I had to watch them put him in that _thing_!"

 _Why didn't you come sooner? Why didn't you save him at the last moment? Why? Why? Why?_

She was nearly screaming in Steve's face. "You should have stopped him!" Natasha threw a weak fist out at his shoulder and he did nothing to deflect it—in fact, he looked like he _wanted_ her to hit him—She beat at his chest, roaring with fist after fist, while still he stood solidly and accepted her loud accusations.

But Natasha was too exhausted to throw another punch and her final blow died down with her anger, melting down into despair as her hand slid from his shoulder. Her lungs heaved and she weakly sobbed out, "You should have made him wait. Damn you. You should have left him at the tower. You should have…" The words died in her mouth and Steve caught her wrist, pulling her to him and encasing her in his large arms, as though he could protect her from despair.

"I know." He whispered in a shaky breath, squeezing her tightly while she laid her crying face against his shoulder. "I'm sorry—I know."

"Damn you," Natasha cursed with tears, her mind filling with images of Bucky's fearful eyes and whimpers. Steve's shaking hand was petting her hair, his own silent tears spilling down through her red strands, and the both of them stood in silence.

But that silence was interrupted by Ruger's foul voice from beneath Sam's foot. "You know, he cried," Ruger laughed, enjoying their helplessness and causing Natasha's stomach to flip. "Right before we put him in the chair. It was pathetic. He cried. Like an infant."

"Shut your mouth," Sam pressed the gun to Ruger's head again.

"You wanted me to talk, so I'm filling you in on what you missed." Ruger didn't seem to care about the gun. Either that, or he—like Natasha—knew that Sam wouldn't use it and he went on to describe in detail the fear on James' face, calling it weakness.

Steve's hold of Natasha strengthened and she could almost feel his temper flaring in his veins, like an electric volt had suddenly made him ten times stronger than he was. His hands were not shaking anymore, but Natasha's skin was aware of the buzz that was flowing through his body. With careful control, Steve placed his hands on Natasha's shoulders and slowly pressed her away from him, his eyes taking on a look that truthfully frightened her. He didn't look murderous, he didn't look anguished, he didn't even look angry—Steve just looked… resigned.

"Sam, is he answering any of your questions?" _Now_ Natasha could hear the wrath in his voice, so opposite from the tired composure he wore.

Sam shook his head, just as wary as Natasha of this new side of Steve. They'd never seen him like this.

Steve nodded once and then strode calmly over to Sam, hand striking out quickly to snatch the gun before he aimed and fired at Ruger's head. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Steve!" Sam looked at him incredulously, but Rogers kept firing. Natasha was keeping track of the gunshots, every sound of the firearm appeasing her more and more. It was wicked of her to be taking such comfort from the continuous sound, but then Ruger hadn't worried about his wickedness against James—or Natasha and Steve afterward.

Click. Click. Click. The gun was empty, but Steve kept pulling.

"Steve," Sam pulled the gun from his grasp, still shocked by what his friend had done. "I think he's dead." Natasha knew he was being sarcastic, but she still needed that confirmation. There was no way Ruger couldn't have been dead, not with so much brain matter all over the floor.

"Ahem," Tony cleared his throat, still working over the control panel for the cryogenics tank. "I think I can get him out safely—emphasis on the _think_ part."

"I don't want _think_ , Tony, how about _know_?" Steve's anger was still on the surface, but it was obvious from his face that he was trying to bury it again.

"I didn't design it, Mr. Impatient, this machine is an antique and you have to treat it nicely or else James' isn't going to survive decompression."

"What does that mean?" Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Can anyone tell me what happens when you take frozen glass and put it in steaming water?" Tony looked around the room, but when he was only met with glares, he rubbed his hands together and continued. "This thing has a countdown process; we need to wait another hour or so."

"An hour?" Bruce strode up to the panel in nothing but shorts, having shrunk down from his much larger, green form. He squinted at the panel and shook his head. "No, no, I'd say four, just to be safe. "

"Four hours?" Sam asked incredulously. "Can we even wait that long? Hydra's not going to swarm this place while we're waiting, are they?"

"If they do, they'll regret it," Natasha said softly. Her voice was used up, gravelly from its efforts that day.

"Is he going to be okay when he comes out of cryo-sleep?" Steve asked, as though dreading the answer.

"Probably not, but he'll be alive." Tony murmured.

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* * *

 _Listen to "Slip Away" by Josh Garrels_

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As hard as it was to look at him, Natasha parked herself in front of James' tank and waited, crossed-legged on the floor. After an argument between Sam, Bruce, and Tony, they measured the time out to be an hour and a half—but it was still too long to Natasha. She remembered that James has begged her not to look, not to watch as he was frozen, and a small part of her was ashamed that she hasn't listened- but how could she not have watched?

Natasha barely noticed the way Clint came to sit beside her.

She could only hear the way Steve paced behind her, his steps keeping in rhythm with her heartbeat.

She barely heard the whisperings between Bruce and Tony, something about how to manage the wiring.

She could hear, but didn't respond to, the way Sam encouraged her, told her she was brave, or took her boot off and ripped away the pant leg to bandage her bullet-wound. That had hurt a little, but Natasha's mind was blank. All she wanted—no, _needed_!—was to see James come out of that tank.

And finally, that moment had arrived.

"Okay, everyone gets a station," Tony clapped his hands together, having taken off his helmet and removed his gauntlets. "Steve, up top—you're gonna need to pull him out. Sam, you're catcher, assisting Steve," Stark pointed to the control console. "Bruce and I are on operation and wiring. Hawkeye, you're on sedatives."

"Sedatives?" Clint raised an eyebrow as Steve and Sam passed him by, climbing the short set of stairs to stand over the hatch. "For what?"

"In case our resident cyborg wakes up on the wrong side of the bed and tries to kill us."

Natasha snarled at the quip, but crossed her arms, looking to Steve and Sam and then to Stark. "And what am I supposed to be doing during all of this?"

Tony opened his mouth, clearly about to say something inappropriate, when Bruce laid a hand on Tony's forearm and shook his head. "You're worried about the Winter Soldier being a threat? She'd break your arm if she didn't need you to stand at the controls."

 _Smart Banner. Real Smart. Tony has motivation to keep his mouth shut and I have motivation not to kill him._

Clearing his throat again, Tony looked like he'd taken the hint. "To be honest, I don't have a job for you, just do what you want."

Natasha nodded, grateful that he hadn't asked her to do something miniscule just to make her feel useful. Making her way to the stairs, intending to lend support at the top of the tank, she caught sight of Hawkeye twirling a sedative between his fingers like a dart he was getting ready to throw.

"Here we go," Tony pulled down on a lever above his head, eyes squinting and muscles tensing as he exerted force against it. "All right, Cap, open the hatch."

Twisting the circular handle, Steve grunted as he threw the hatch door open, causing it to loudly bang against the top of the machine and startling everyone in the room.

"Geez," Tony huffed, pulling out some wiring and handing some to Banner.

Sam reached down through the hole, pressing his fingers to the gel-like substance that held James' in place—but then he shrieked in pain, retracting his hand and waving his fingers through the air like he'd been stung.

"It's cold—but it burns." Sam was still waving his fingers, but Steve grabbed them to look at them. Rough singes covered Sam's knuckles to the wrist like soggy burn marks.

Without a moment's hesitation, Steve pressed Sam away, swinging his feet through the hole and holding on to the edges as he lowered himself in. Grimacing with gritted teeth, Steve lowered himself further and further in spite Sam's protests, and Sam reached out a hand to grasp his wrist as Steve plunged wholly into the burning gel.

Steam rose from where Sam held on to Steve, a hissing sound coming from where Sam's hand was submerged, and the dark man pulled with all his might to bring Steve upward, crying out with exertion. Leaping up the stairs to help him, Natasha pulled and pulled at Steve's wrist, resisting the urge to groan when some of the gel ate at her skin like acid.

When his head surfaced above the gel, Steve gasped, groaning and sputtering and keeping his other arm in an iron hold around James' unconscious form. He managed to hoist James upward and Sam took hold of him by the shoulders, dragging the heavy body away from the opening while Steve's muscles shook with the effort it took to raise himself out of the hole. Some of his uniform had been eaten away by the freezing gel and Natasha could see red, puffy burns covering his pale flesh.

"He's not breathing," Sam guarded his burnt hand against his chest, but was wiping the gel away from James' face. Steve dropped onto the surface beside the hatch, gasping for breath and shuddering violently as he crawled beside the unresponsive James.

"Bucky?" He brushed his friend's crunchy hair away from his forehead and wiped at the moisture still clinging to James' face. "Stark! He's not breathing!"

"I'm on it." Natasha's adrenaline spiked and she flew down the stairs, racing to a lit table beside the tank, and grabbing an oddly shaped face-mask attached to a bag before stumbling back up the stairs where Steve bent closer to James' face, ready to administer CPR.

"Wait!" Natasha warned him back and knelt on James' other side, squeezing and constricting the bag on the mask before pressing it to James' mouth. Releasing her hold on the bag, a gurgling sound erupted from James' throat and immediately a torrent of thick ice-water gushed from his mouth and into the bag.

"Ugh," Sam turned his head, unable to watch, though he made no move from where he stood beside Steve's kneeling form.

"Come on, Buck," Steve looked down at James in panic, keeping a hand on James' cheek as Natasha withdrew the bag, allowing James' lungs to try and work for themselves. But after a few seconds of stillness, she squeezed the bag again and moved it to James' mouth.

"Come on, Bucky."

Natasha could see the growing concern on Steve's face, but allowed none of her fears to take hold—she had a job to do, and she was going to do it until someone pried her away. Or tried to.

The bag came back empty and Roger's worry bloomed into full swing. Pushing his hands against James' chest, Steve forced out whatever was left from the man's lungs before pressing his lips to James' and blowing air into his mouth.

"Come on, Bucky." Steve said in an almost scolding tone as he pushed his hands against James' chest again. "Breathe. Do it now!"

Natasha held her breath, watching the lingering icy gel on James' lips burn the skin on Steve's, his pink lips taking on a red irritated hue. But Steve kept pressing against James' chest, breathing into his mouth again and again.

Roughly coughing up chunks of ice, James' eyes flew open as he picked up his head and gagged, greedily drawing in breath before resting against the hard surface of the tank beneath him. He rolled over once to vomit more of the disgusting gel and his body shivering as though he suddenly noticed the sensation of cold.

"Bucky," Steve was pulling James' hair out of his face again, the damp locks smearing against the brunet's forehead. "Oh, God, you did it. You did it, Buck."

James' head rolled as he looked back and forth between Steve and Sam, his eyes shutting for a moment as he dragged in another rough breath and coughed. When he opened his eyes again, he locked gazes with Steve and grasped for his arms, desperately seeking warmth.

"I've got you, Bucky," Steve winced as he pulled James' up to sit, pressing him against his burnt chest, but holding him close all the same.

"Ruger?" James' voice sounded wet and haggard, but his determination was as strong as ever.

"He's dead." Steve answered.

"Real," James coughed again, the skin at the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he crammed them shut. "Really dead?"

"Steve made sure of it," Sam said with no small amount of regret. Natasha was certain that watching Captain America lose his cool was probably one of the most disturbing images Sam had been witness to.

James' shut his eyes in relief, still cradled in Steve's hold, when he asked a question in Russian and all heads turned to Natasha. She didn't feel like answering them and replied to James in the same language.

" _I'm fine—just frustrated that Steve was late."_

" _Don't be angry with him_. _I'm sorry I gave up. Please, Natasha, forgive me—_ " he was pleading.

"Stop." She said firmly in English. "You didn't give up. I watched you, you didn't—"

"I hurt you." He whispered breathlessly. "They made me hurt you…" and then his head was rolling back against Steve's arm, arms falling limply to his sides, and his eyes closed with the last traces of his energy.

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 **re`orien`ta`tion: the act of figuring out where you are, to point yourself in the right direction.**

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 _Phew! Okay, hardcore stuff isn't quite over, but this was the height of it. Please please please review and tell me what you think!_

 _Responding to reviews for chapter 18:_

 _ **Mmelody6:**_ _Thank you thank you thank you :)_

 _ **Blackwidowandhawkeye:**_ _Hey, I'm typing as fast as I can (fingers typing so furiously that smoke is billowing from them!)_

 _ **Qweb:**_ _I try, I try ;)_

 _Thank you to all who follow and favorite this story! I'd write all of your names here, but there are so many of you now! :D_


	20. ANT MAN POST CREDITS

**ANT MAN POST CREDITS WITH BUCKY, STEVE, AND SAM**

 _For those of you unable to find it (or with machines slow enough that they won't process Tumblr very well) I wanted to give you a text version of the Ant-Man post credits everyone is talking about:_

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The scene opens on a dark room, lit by sunlight leaking through the roof. The walls and floors are a drab concrete grey and in the middle of the room is a large gnarled and twisted piece of metal, about twelve feet high and very heavy-looking. Steve and Sam enter the room in civilian clothing, taking slow and tentative steps as they come closer to the huddled figure beside the metal structure.

It's Bucky, looking haggard in a dirty, red shirt, his metal arm trapped by the strange metal contraption at the center of the room.

Bucky raises his head slowly, as if afraid to acknowledge that Steve and Sam are in the room, but his low and breathy voice utters a barely audible plea that is most definitely desperate, "Help…"

Steve swallows heavily, staring at his friend and obviously torn about what to do. Sam steps in front of Steve, the darker man's back turned to Bucky, and he says, "This would have been a lot easier a week ago." Sam turns to look over his shoulder at the pathetic, ensnared figure whose long bangs are falling into his face.

Steve turns his head to face Sam. "If we call Tony—"

"No, he won't believe us." Sam shakes his head, still not looking at Bucky.

"But even if he did—" Steve tries again.

"Who knows if the accord will let him help." Sam reminds him regretfully.

Steve cranes his neck to look at Bucky again, stubborn determination fixed on his features. "We're on our own." He says, more as an announcement to Sam that he _will not_ give up on Bucky.

Sam pauses before his mouth quirks. "Maybe not." When Steve looks at him questioningly, a small grin tugs at the corner of Sam's mouth. "I know a _guy_ …"

The screen turns black and words in white appear: Ant-Man Will Return

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 _Sorry, ya'll- chapter update coming tomorrow, but I thought you'd appreciate this! For those of you who haven't seen it, this is my personal transcript of what happened in the post credits based on five different recordings on Tumblr that I watched like a madwoman. There are some debates as to whether or not Bucky asks for help, but I can promise you that after seeing the segment so many times (and at so many different volume levels with the various recordings) HE ABSOLUTELY DOES say, "Help," the only word in question here is the "Me", so either it is "Help" or "Help me"._

 _If you can find the videos, more power to you! But I'm pretty sure that by this time tomorrow, Marvel will have swept the web and blocked the uploaded videos._

 _Chapter tomorrow!_


	21. 20 -Revelation

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 20 - Revelation**_

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 _Listen to "Breathe Me" by Sia_

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James was cold down to his bones and he couldn't seem to get warm. He coughed again and again, shuddering under layers of blankets as Steve slid his chair closer to James' bed. Steve had insisted that a hot bath might help, but James had only shaken his head in silent protest. He wanted nothing to do with being submerged for a good long time.

He blinked slowly and when he turned his head to look at Steve, Sam was there instead, head lolling over his chest, drowsing in the chair beside James' nightstand. James looked long and hard at Sam's face, startled when he took a long, slow blink and the face morphed into Bruce's.

It seemed as though every time he shut his eyes, James was looking into a new face, though there only ever seemed to be one person at a time in his room—he realized, with no small amount of panic, that he was drifting through time.

Blinking again, a head of red hair and bright green eyes were looking down at him where he lay. Reaching a cold hand for Natasha, James muttered her name again, stilling when he saw someone standing behind her. His eyes weren't focusing—was it Ruger?

"You bastard," James' brow furrowed in anger and he gritted his teeth, calling on all of his strength to lunge at the man, but his weakened body betrayed him and he fell to the floor beside the bed, hands still grasping for Ruger.

"l'll kill you! I'll kill you, Ruger!" Saliva flew from James' mouth and he wrapped his fingers around the man's throat. Spots were appearing in his vision and his strength suddenly waned, causing him to buckle over and hit his head against the nightstand.

Ruger was hacking from the crush of his windpipe and Steve was helping the man to his feet— _Steve! Get away from Ruger! What are you doing?_ — while Natasha pushed James forcefully back onto the bed. His vision suddenly cleared enough to understand that it _wasn't_ Ruger who had been standing behind Natasha. It was Bruce.

As though trying to spare him from feeling guilty about strangling Bruce, James brain commanded him to stare at a fixed point on the wall: a dot, probably a piece of dust smudged against the taupe paint. Tony's Tower was immaculate, the cause of the mark being a mystery to James, and he spent the next few seconds trying to determine how it had gotten there. Or, it had felt like seconds…

"Bucky?" Steve. Steve was there. Steve was sitting on James' bed. "Bucky, snap out of it…"

"There's dirt on the wall," James throat felt like sandpaper. He pointed at the dot and Steve exhaled loudly, leaning away from the bed and scratching the discrepancy from the wall. Relief. James was relieved now that it wasn't there anymore. Everything was chaos, but at least the wall was clean again.

"Have you been staring at a _piece of dirt_ for ten minutes?" Steve's tone sounded broken, sounded sad.

 _Don't be sad, Steve. The dirt's gone, everything's fine now._

"Bucky?" Steve sat down on the side of the bed again and laid a hand on James' shoulder, running his thumb along James' skin and sending a chill through his spine. Steve was hot. Scalding even. James was laid bare to the sensation because there was no more dot to stare at.

"I'm cold," James murmured, starting to tremble as goosebumps made their way up and down his flesh. And no wonder—the blankets had been kicked away and his torso was bare. He wanted to be warm again, wanted to feel the sun on his skin or the heat of another body, and he asked himself why he was cold. _Because you were in cryo-sleep and they forgot to warm you up,_ a clinical voice hummed in his head.

Cryo-sleep… The gel invading the spaces of his body, the crackle of frost snapping at his skin, the fullness of the liquid inside of his lungs, creeping into every crevice… James' eyes roamed to Steve's sitting form, his breathing becoming difficult as he imagined his lungs being filled with the wet stuff.

 _Can't breathe_. Steve's torso was bare, just like James, but there were random windings of light gauze around his chest and arms, skin covered in ridged scorch marks that were set with deep purple and dark brown.

 _Can't breathe._ Steve's face and hands were covered in the rashes as well, but they looked to be healing fast.

"What happened to you?" James' eyes went wide. _Still can't breathe._ _Do I even need to breathe? I seem to be doing fine without air._

"S'not important." Steve summoned a smile, but James knew it was only meant for his comfort.

Inhale. Gasp. Sputter. Black dots appearing in his vision again. "How'd I…?" James trailed off.

 _How did I get out of the tank? I was pulled out. That's not how it's supposed to work—they didn't follow procedure—he shouldn't have been taken out like that—was that why he couldn't think?_

"You dropped into the tank, didn't you? You fished me out."

Steve nodded solemnly, jaw muscles working. James' train of thought switched gears again and he struggled to breathe, but with the dot gone from the wall, James' mind was occupied with organized bullet points:

Point one: He'd attacked Natasha when Ruger had used the trigger word.

Point two: Steve's body was burnt from jumping into the tank to save him.

Gasp. Heave. Cough.

Point three: Sam was sporting a forearm that was wrapped in gauze as well.

 _What_ was he trying to do again? Oh, that's right: breathe. Gasp.

Point Four: He'd mistaken Bruce for Ruger and nearly strangled him to death.

Black bubbles dancing in his vision again. Maybe he should count those instead of bullet points, but they kept flickering away. Choke. Sputter. Gasp.

Point… what number was he on? Tony… though Tony had already found a semblance of forgiveness, the guilt at killing Tony's father ate at James' innards.

Clint was the only one he hadn't wronged, but he knew how close the archer and Natasha were, so by harming her, he'd harmed Barton. Was there anyone else on the list he hadn't damaged?

An invisible hand pulled a lever in James' head and he couldn't remember where he was or what he'd been doing. "Don't let Zola take me again, Dougan! I can't do it again!" James' anguished plea didn't sound like his own voice.

"Dougan's dead," Steve murmured quietly, holding James' hands in both of his. James eyes widened and he felt as though they may roll out of his head if he opened his lids any wider.

"Cholera…" James sounded like a frightened child—he felt like one. "Zola's giving it to them, I don't know why—I don't know why it hasn't killed me, like it's killed them… but I'm too sick to keep this up for much longer…"

"Bucky, you're not behind enemy lines anymore," Steve brushed the hair away from James' face with his fingers, tucking locks behind his ears. "We rescued you, remember? We walked back to camp—you got better, remember? We went out for drinks, Peggy said she was gonna go dancing when the war was over. War's over, Buck. Do you remember where you are?"

But James seemed to be stuck in the past. "He made me sick, Steve. I thought I was gonna die. And then he'd put me back in the cell with Dougan and Gabe and… and Jim." He finally looked Steve in the eye, focusing on his friend's face. "Dougan took care of me, Steve. He and Gabe, they kept me going. Told me I'd see you again." The smallest flash of a smile passed over his face. "Dougan was right…"

Steve's touched expression said that this was new news to him, a story he'd never heard.

 _Why can't I focus? Why can't I keep track of my thoughts? Why do I keep switching? I want to see Natasha again. No! I can't, Hydra will make me hurt her again. I want to see her. I don't want to see her._

"Steve," He whimpered helplessly. "Is this… is it real, are you here?"

"I'm here, Bucky," Steve squeezed his hands hard, but James could only feel it in one hand. Was his left arm asleep? It must be, he couldn't feel anything. Wait… he didn't _have_ a left arm. That's right. No more tattoo.

"Steve," James felt the tears roll down his cheek. "Am I losing my mind?"

"I don't know," Steve finally answered. Truth. James liked truth, even though it was hard to take sometimes. Truth was good. Truth was… _I want to see Natasha._

James stopped talking after that, despite their many efforts to get him to speak. If a question couldn't be answered with a nod or a shake of the head, then they were out of luck.

 _Keep them away. But I need them. I'm dangerous. Go away. But, God help me, I need them. Help me. Go away. Go away. Help me. Go away._

 _Go away._

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 _Listen to "Landfill" by Daughter_

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Natasha was bitter. Her arms were crossed as she sat in the chair she'd dragged to the wall outside James' room, just beside the door. In the five days since he'd been rescued, she'd tried to come into the room, but always he would tell her to leave once he saw her— one time, he'd been so adamant that he'd shouted at her with his lungs' fullest capacity, bulging veins in his neck as he warned her back before collapsing.

What had she expected? That once James had been saved that everything would return back to normal? Happily ever after? She should know better than that. But it didn't make her resentment any easier to bear. Natasha only wanted to help…

"He's angry with himself for letting them order him to attack you," Sam explained, standing over her with his hands on his hips. "He doesn't want to do it again."

Natasha had nodded, but it still hurt. What was she supposed to do now? She knew she would wait, she knew she would sit outside his door until… well, until what?

"He's so quiet now." Natasha murmured absently, recalling the first time James had left the room: He had floated like a ghost, wandering aimlessly through the tower and staring out the large windows at the skyline below. Every one of the tower's inhabitants would attempt to comfort him, but he wouldn't acknowledge them.

"I don't know how to break through to him." Her face softening from a frown. "James doesn't scream at night the way he used to and I guess I should be grateful for that, but the quiet bothers me so much more." She wasn't sure why she was talking to Sam about this, but it probably had to do with how approachable the charismatic man made himself.

"I tried to sneak in a few nights ago," She admitted, ducking her head. "Thought he wouldn't notice. Thought he might actually be grateful and… I dunno, snap out of it, I guess. But he just opened his eyes… he got up and left. Found somewhere else to sleep."

"You've got a beating heart like the rest of us, Natasha," Sam said as he knelt on the floor in front of her chair, laying a hand on her knee. "Even if you pretend it's colder than any of ours. James is already trying to deal with this alone, don't _you_ make that mistake—we're here if you need us."

"I've been through worse—" She started to say, but Sam cut her off with a frustrated laugh.

"And that makes _this_ any less painful _now_?" He raised an eyebrow at her, rising to his feet again and shaking his head. "Is that what they taught you in Russia? _Deal with it all by yourself?_ Well, you're not taking orders from _them_ anymore are you? So, why would you cope the same way they instructed you to? That doesn't make any sense, Natasha." Sam crossed his arms and looked down at her.

She hadn't expected his words to strike her so hard, but he was right. Her heartbeat fluttered and for the first time since they'd returned from the sewer, she acknowledged the full weight of her emotions—what _was_ she feeling? _Betrayed_ and _useless_. Betrayal because James wouldn't let her anywhere near him, wouldn't let her into the room or into his head.

"Honestly," Sam was still talking with his hands on his hips, standing above her, "I think you need—"

The heaviness in her chest constricted her breathing and she sprang to her feet, sliding her hands around Sam's waist and burying her face in his chest.

"Uh," He was taken aback by her embrace. "A hug. That works, too." He lowered his arms to wind around her, laying his cheek on her head. She just stood and breathed, allowing the closeness of another person to help process these unruly emotions boiling inside of her. And then she felt something else behind her.

"Natasha sandwich," Sam laughed, vibrating her cheek against his chest. Steve was holding the both of them from behind her. Okay, so the hugging thing had been helping, but this was a bit much…

And then another person enveloped them all in his enormous hold. When had _he_ come back? This was getting ridiculous.

"Ah, my friends," Thor's loud voice boomed over Natasha's head. "All will be well. No need for such defeated embraces after such a victory."

"I'm feeling snubbed. I didn't get a ticket to snuggle-con 2013." Tony said from somewhere beyond the heap of flesh that was Natasha, Sam, Steve, and Thor.

"S'okay, I didn't either," Banner laughed, and Natasha could practically hear him holding a hand over his mouth.

Natasha said something, but her head was still pressed to Sam's chest because of the many arms surrounding them, and no one heard her. Her cheeks were burning from embarrassment.

"Um?" Barton's voice came from somewhere beyond the huddle. "I'm looking for Tasha?"

"She's the gooey center of that lollipop in the hallway." Tony laughed. "Get licking, Barton."

"I…" Steve was struggling to move away from her, but didn't make it very far. "Er, I can't move until Thor lets me go…"

"My apologies," The thunderous man released them, stepping away with a huge grin.

Natasha took in a full breath as the many arms withdrew and, disgruntled, stepped away from Sam. " _That_ is why I have a hard time with affection."

"I've got no regrets," Sam was grinning from ear to ear, nudging her shoulder. " _The_ Black widow, ex-KGB assassin, and deadly member of the Avengers just _hugged_ me. That's almost as awesome as being best friends with Captain America."

"What brings you to Tony's tower of terrors?" Clint smirked at the Asgardian behind Natasha.

"I am here to intervene on James' behalf," Thor announced. "Sir Stark has made me aware of the situation with your brother, my friend," He clasped a large hand on Steve's shoulder, "I know what must be done. If you will heed my counsel and grant me permission to act, I can assure you James shall fight alongside you once more."

Natasha's brows rose. _Stark? Of all people…_ but then she was distracted by the silent, but powerful exchange between Thor and Steve. They seemed to be speaking without words, eyes heavy with understanding, sympathy, and remorse.

 _I, too, know what it is like to lose a brother._ Thor's expression looked to say. Roger's head bowed and then he looked toward James' room. "I don't… he won't talk to me. He won't talk to anyone, not even Natasha."

Thor's face lit up with understanding and his eyes strayed to Natasha's, as if to communicate that he understood there was something between her and James. Or there _had been_ , which is what Natasha's bearing must have told him because he cocked a brow at her.

"Uh, Steve," Sam waved a hand at the demi-god in a red cape. "I don't think this is such a good idea—has Bucky even met—"

"It's fine, Sam." Steve nodded, opening the door to James' room and allowing the tall Asgardian to pass through.

"It gladdens me to know I have your trust in this, Captain," Thor literally ducked under the doorway so as not to hit his head and then turned around to face them all in the hallway. "But I fear I must ask for more: Whatever you hear from within this room, please disregard it. I cannot command you, but I entreat you, do not interfere.."

A flurry of concerns popped into Natasha's head—and apparently a few others' heads as well—but Steve only nodded and turned to look at them all, as though he was pleading for them all to agree.

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 _Listen to "Bloodstream" by Ed Sheeran_

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Natasha wasn't sure what to make of "whatever you hear, please disregard it," but after an hour of nothing but silence beyond the closed door, there was a distinct sound of something crashing and something else being crushed. It took every ounce of Natasha's self-control not to jump up and dash into the room, and when James' frantic shouting came next, she almost caved—but Steve's hand on her arm stopped her.

She glared into his face, silently condemning him with words she would never say _: You were late once already, don't you dare be late to save him a second time!_ Natasha was convinced by now that it was pointless to refute her protective nature regarding James—he was alternately strong and vulnerable, stoic and emotional, quiet and loud, but no matter his mood or the reasons behind it, she felt she could weather whatever mood or mind James was under.

James hollered loudly and an object crashed against the other side of the wall closest to Steve, causing him to flinch and grip Natasha's arm that much harder. Thor's immense baritone finally answered, a gentle and kind tone filling the air and landing soothingly on all ears that heard it. James was arguing with him over something and Natasha heard the rollings of thunder overhead.

A crack of lightning sounded and still Steve held her back from reaching for the door. "Give him some time," Steve said in a controlled voice, probably saying it to himself as much as her.

"Let me go," Natasha warned, determined to storm in and demand that Thor leave James alone, but another clap of thunder silenced her, a shriek of terror accompanying it.

And then silence.

Natasha was panting with the effort it took not to act on the adrenaline running through her veins and clenched her eyes shut, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. She heard nothing else from the room and it unnerved her, causing her hands to shake.

"Steve?" Once she opened her eyes, she couldn't take them off of the door and even though Rogers' hand was no longer on her arm, she couldn't find the will to move toward it without his consent. "Steve?"

Rogers looked just as unsettled as her and nodded, causing her to dart forward and throw the door open. The room was trashed, the bed having been flung over on its side and the glass from the windows littering the floor. Cloth from the sheets were scattered about and a large black circle adorned the floor, strange symbols and insignias adorning it. Thor and James were gone.

"Did Thor...?" Natasha stepped in, glass crunching beneath her boots, but she was certain she knew the answer. "They're gone, Steve."

Sam rounded the corner instantly, hand on the doorway as he leaned into the room. "Holy sh—"

"He took him?" Steve looked around helplessly, standing above the black scorched circle on the floor. "He took him to Asgard?" he whirled to face Sam. "Why? Why would he do that?"

Sam shook his head, clearly just as mystified, when Tony appeared behind him and rolled his eyes. "Look at this—it's like _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie_ , but with ninjas—tell me the rest of the rooms are okay—"

" _Shut up_ , Tony." Natasha snarled, stomping out of the room.

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 **rev`e`la`tion: the divine or supernatural disclosure to humans of something relating to human existence or the world.**

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 _Thank you for your patience! I knew exactly what I wanted to do with this chapter, but it was difficult to format it just the right way :P_

 _I keep playing that post credit scene from Ant Man over and over again in my head and I can't believe I have to wait another year to figure out what in the world is going on! UGH! Until then, fan fic, it is!_

 _Next Chapter on Monday night—I really want to get the next chapter to flow as perfectly as I see it in my head._

 _Responses to reviews for Chapter 19:_

 _ **TardisAJB**_ _—Thank you for bearing with me—happy stuff is coming!_

 _ **Cairistiona7**_ _—you flatter me! Have safe travels :) And I hope I'm still on the right track, but you be sure to let me know if you've got a prompt for the story ;)_

 _ **Mmelody6**_ _—and a flurry of smiles to you, too! :D_

 _ **Qweb**_ _—breathe! I think there's a part of Sam that sees the differences between the Captain America image the media wants everyone to see and the flawed, imperfect character Steve truly is. I've always loved Sam for this, for being able to see Steve on his best and worst days, and for still being his friend despite it._

 _ **Steve r0gers**_ _—thank you so much! It was hard to write, having dealt with that kind of terror before and trying to bring it into text without freaking out!_

 _ **Isabelele**_ _—thank you thank you thank you!_

" _ **guest"—**_ _I'm glad you love it—more to come!_

 _ **Mmelody6**_ _—you're very welcome (in reference to the post-credit description)_

 _A big thank you to all followers and favoriters of this story!_


	22. 21 -Rehabilitation

Disclaimer: I own nothing—this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 21 – Rehabilitation**_

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 _Listen to "Stars" by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals_

* * *

Natasha sat on the floor of the entertainment room in front of the window that spanned the entire wall, staring at the diminishing light in the sky and watching the stars appear one by one. She hadn't bothered sleeping, the night Thor had taken James. Or the night after that. And it was likely she wouldn't be sleeping tonight either. Each day grew another layer of callousness over her heart, slowly dissolving her worries until she could barely hear them.

Steve, however, was the opposite.

"Part of me wants to stay here and do nothing but wait," He confessed as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged beside her. "The other part wants to throw myself into as much work as possible."

Natasha didn't answer and her indifference must have irked Steve.

"He'll be back," Steve re-assured as she continued to stare at the sky.

At the back of her mind was a desperate need to know where James was, to know that he was safe, to know that he was being helped instead of hurt further, but she had no control over anything that was happening—and so it was buried, that crippling emotion of helplessness, hidden behind layers of anger and indifference in an effort to spare her.

"Is this what you felt like?" Natasha spoke quietly. "When I'd found him, but I wouldn't tell you where he was?"

Steve looked at her for a long moment and she wondered if he would lie to try and spare her feelings or lash out at her with the truth. _What goes around comes around…_

"I was angry with you for blocking me out," Rogers nodded. "But I wasn't worried. I knew you'd take care of him." He reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

"He's coming back," Steve whispered again, as much to himself as to her.

 _._

* * *

 _Listen to "Demons" by Gavin Mikhail_

* * *

"Walk with me, friend Barnes." Thor said in that fatherly, authoritative tone that instantly humbled and calmed James. He clutched the dark blue cloak closer around his shoulders, rising from his seat on the balcony and obeying Thor's gentle command.

The Asgardian's alpha-male presence should have been intimidating, but James craved it. He _wanted_ to be commanded, wanted someone to make him ignore his warped musings by giving him orders. And, though Thor seemed to recognize his power over James, his manner convinced the broken man that the 'god' would _never_ abuse that power.

 _Eat, friend Barnes. Sleep, friend Barnes. Walk with me, friend Barnes._ It brought James relief.

"Tell me about your dream last night." The red cape swayed behind the ankles of the heir to Asgard.

"Same as the others." James tugged the cloak close around his neck, absently stroking the soft fabric. "Hydra comes. They use a trigger word. I kill everyone."

"The pool has unleashed your fears." Thor nodded.

The pool. That damned pool. James had hated having to wade into it:

" _I can't do this," James was shivering, both from the cold and the extreme fear seizing through his limbs, peering down the ledge of rocks into the glowing purple water. Water was supposed to be clear, not colored…_

" _You can." Thor said simply. "And you will."_

 _James shuddered violently and lowered a bare toe into the water, gasping when he'd gone in enough to be covered to the knee. "I can't…" He gasped for breath, his chest heaving and his heart beating frantically. "Please, don't make me do this…"_

 _But Thor's eyes showed that he wouldn't give in to James' plea, the red cape falling from his shoulders as he began to climb down the rocks and waded in, crossing over to James with his arms outstretched, silently asking him to descend further. "I will not make you do it alone. But you must do it, friend Barnes." His tone held no room for negotiation._

 _James could practically hear the imagined voice of Steve growling against Thor, demanding that the Asgardian leave James be. With weak and shaking arms, James gripped the rocks with hands like claws, pushing himself further down until his foot reached the bottom of the pool. He hadn't given his body the command to do it, but his arms reached for Thor's all the same, clutching the god's body like a lifeline, like he would drown if he didn't._

 _Thor said nothing, but nodded in approval, leading James through the water to the center of the pool._

" _I will count to three." Thor's voice was stern, as though he knew James would beg to be led away from the water. He was right._

" _I can't—"_

" _You must." Thor admonished with a soft voice._

" _No, I mean…" James threw off another shudder and clenched his eyes, opening them again when he knew his voice wouldn't break. "I can't make myself do it… I need help."_

 _Nodding in understanding, Thor lifted a wet hand and laid it gently over James' head, drops of purple water running down James' face as the dark-haired man took deep breaths in and out, attempting to gain control over the tremors of his muscles._

" _One," Thor started. James' eyes snapped up, looking into Thor's with a vulnerability that cracked at the Asgardian's composure. And yet, Thor counted on. "Two… three." The last word was a whisper and the gentle push against James' head motivated him down._

 _Down, down, down. His feet hadn't moved from the bottom, but it felt as though he'd been plunged backward into the depths of some wide ocean, never to find the surface again._

 _There were sharp pains in his head, as though a thousand small strings were snapping, the frayed ends whipping against the inside of his skull. He clutched at his head, but his lungs weren't burning and his body wasn't screaming from lack of air. Instead, the water was soothing—it felt like his body had been made of sharp, jagged edges and the water was filing them down to blunt curves. The snapping in his head was loud and startling, but it didn't hurt anymore._

 _The water went still and James went still with it. Quiet. No more tumultuous thought and overwhelming of his senses. It was quiet. And peaceful. He thought about coming up for air, but not because he needed it. Mostly, he wanted to surface because… well, it was a force of habit. He'd never been in a body of water without needing to reach oxygen as fast as possible. This was—dare he think it?—nice. At his leisure, he came up, blinking in the sudden light of a pink sky above the black and brown rocks around the pool._

" _How do you fare now?" Thor was already out of the pool, sitting on the edge of the rocks with his feet dangling into the water, torso glistening as light reflected from the droplets of water clinging to him._

 _James took his first easy breath since… how many years had it been since he had taken an easy breath? No, not years. Natasha. When she'd held him and he'd had a night without dreams._

" _Better," He admitted truthfully._

Yeah. James had hated that pool, but it had been worth it.

"You need'nt battle your terrors alone," Thor reminded him, placing a large hand on James neck, palm resting below the base of James' skull. If it had been anyone else, the touch would have made James uncomfortable- perhaps even sending him into an adrenaline-induced panic- but this was Thor, Prince of Asgard, and it was a warrior's way of communicating trust.

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* * *

 _Listen to "Say Something" by A Great Big World_

* * *

Natasha hadn't been to Stark Tower for a week and she was nervous about what would be waiting there for her. Stepping into the entertainment room—where once there had been laughter and tears and recovery—Natasha's ears were ringing with how quiet it was. Her feet tentatively took her towards James' room.

"Anyone home?" She called, touching James' door, but not daring to go in.

"He's not back, yet," She heard Steve's voice from down the hall. Striding to Steve's room, her nose was assaulted by the smell of blood. The bedroom portion was empty, but he called to her from the bathroom and she slowly rounded the corner to find him sitting on the edge of the tub.

"Damn, Steve, what happened to you?"

His uniform was slashed through the front, starting at his collar bone and curving to his left side, similar slices lining his legs and his right wrist. He looked tired, but more than that, Steve looked like he'd already been scolded for doing something stupid and was waiting for her to do it next.

"Wasn't paying attention," He grumbled, removing his boots and laying them in the bathtub.

"Maybe this is a stupid question, but shouldn't you be getting stitches instead of bleeding into your bathtub?" Natasha knelt in front of him and helped him slowly slide the glove off of his right hand, a stream of blood dripping onto the tile from where it had collected in the finger-holes.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Not necessary—just need to be taped up. Super-serum'll do the rest."

"Someone come at you with a knife?" Natasha helped him to pull the jacket from his shoulders. "Or a machete?"

"A chainsaw, actually," Steve laughed humorlessly, pulling the sticky, red-stained T-shirt over his head. All at once, Natasha's mind was noting the differences between Steve's naked chest and James'.

Where Steve was pale, smooth, and bare, James was lightly scattered with brown hair and dark, rough skin; where Steve's muscles were pronounced, poofy like they'd been filled with air, James was compact and thick, though no less powerful; and where Steve's curve and tone had been engineered to impress the eye, James tone was smaller and firmer, appealing to more normal proportions.

"It's not that bad," Steve stretched his fingers to hover above the slice near his ribs. "The suit took most of the damage." He sounded like he was trying to reassure her, perhaps mistaking her pause for concern over his injury.

Natasha's eyes vacantly landed on Steve's admittedly small wound and she heard a small release of breath.

Oh. The sigh had had come from her. And she was… crying?

Steve's hand gripped hers and he squeezed, bringing her back to the present. "He's coming back."

"That seems to be your new mantra." Natasha grunted, clearing her throat and pressing her lips together as she applied small strips of tape to his wrist.

"Don't do that, Natasha." Steve sounded angry, causing her to look up at him from where she knelt. His eyes instantly melted to sympathy, as though regretting his previous tone. "Bucky didn't abandon you, so stop acting like it."

"Yes, he did." She wiped her hands with the towel and stood.

"Thor _took_ Bucky, he didn't—"

"James decided he didn't need my help anymore, Steve." Natasha said blandly. "I found him, helped him get back on his feet, and he doesn't need my help anymore. _It's fine_ ," she lied, "Just part of the recovery process. I never wanted to be a handler anyway."

Steve gaped at her incredulously. "Is that really what you think? Or is that what you're telling yourself to believe?"

Natasha couldn't bring herself to tell him that she didn't have it in her anymore—trying to care for people and expecting them to reciprocate. She'd done that so many times before, the most recent person being Bruce. But she couldn't say that. Natasha didn't want to be pitied.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing." Steve shook his head, rising to his feet, eyes burning with anger. "I've heard you tell a lot of lies, Natasha, but I've never watched you try to swallow them yourself. Bucky told me—"

"He's not Bucky anymore, Steve. He's lost his mind."

"Bucky told me," Steve spoke over her, "that he loved you."

It didn't strike Natasha as new news, didn't make her blush or cause her composure to break. She'd known, but it had been a quiet knowledge, a slow confirmation that had built layer upon layer. What _did_ cause her heartbeat to quicken was how difficult it was to admit her own sentiment. Natasha couldn't, _shouldn't_ , need someone—she had to be a lone entity, able to pack up and go at a moment's notice, able to function without distraction, without any leverage for the enemy to use against her.

"I can see you thinking that you gotta do this alone," Steve said over his shoulder as he stepped out of the bathroom. "But I know you love him, too. I'm just waiting for you to have the guts to admit it."

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 **re`ha`bil`i`ta`tion: the process of helping a person who has suffered an illness or injury restore lost skills and so regain maximum self-sufficiency.**

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* * *

 _Ugh, I didn't want to cut this chapter off right here, but there's so much going on with them that I didn't want to confuse you! It would have been a looooooooooong chapter. But the good news is that you get a new one now and another new one tomorrow :)_

 _Response to reviews for chapter 20:_

 _ **Qweb:**_ _Yup, you were right! And Thor isn't perfect and the situation might have been that he couldn't have left them with warning. Don't read the spoiler on the Ant-Man post credit scene! Don't want to spoil it for you!_

 _ **Cairistiona7:**_ _That's what it's like inside of a panic attack :( what happened in the room shall remain a mystery for now, but hopefully the description of Asgard was satisfying. More to come!_

 _ **KnowInsight:**_ _It's not the first time Steve has had to watch someone else take care of Bucky, so by this time, he's probably just remembering that Natasha's efforts yielded a lot of success, and he's got enough trust in Thor not to lose his mind._

 _ **Steve r0gers:**_ _Thank you for the correction! Always looking to improve :) Ah, the Bucky feels… he's a complex character, but I love how many layers there are to him. I'm glad you liked Tony—he's the hardest one to wrap my head around!_

 _ **TardisAJB:**_ _Sorry about the cliffy… wait, no, I'm not—I love keeping you in suspense! Mwuahahahaha!_

 _ **Mmelody6:**_ _:D!_

 _Big thanks to all followers and favoriters of this story! If you can, please leave a review—it can be a smiley face if you can't think of anything to write! :)_


	23. 22 -Reconciliation

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 22 – Reconciliation**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "Chain" by Ingrid Michaelson_

* * *

"Natasha." She heard her name being said.

 _Shut up, Rogers._

 _Shut up, Wilson._

 _I don't want to talk about Barnes anymore. Leave me alone._

 _Oh, not you, too, Barton. I don't need your help. I've got this. I know, I know—James is coming back soon, yadda yadda, and I'll be happy to see him even though I'm mad right now. Yeah, yeah, I know._

 _You've got to be kidding me—Bruce, I'm not talking to you about this either. You're the last person I want to talk to about James. Why do you even care? Do you feel guilty about rejecting me? Is it pity? Pity because I'm attracted to men who think they're too dangerous to be with me? Please, leave me alone._

 _Don't you get it? If I give an inch to how much I miss him, I'll break._

 _Oh, God. Now I'm praying. I've only done that a few times in my life. You all keep cracking away at the wall I'm hiding behind and now I'm leaking through it. Oh, God, bring him back to me._

 _It hurts. He told me to go away. He was afraid of hurting me. But_ _this_ _hurts! He's afraid of hurting me if he sticks with me—but does James know how much he hurts me by being away? Hurt, hurt, hurt, either way, that's all it does._

 _Barton… Clint, help me. Steve, help me. Sam, help me. Bruce… you just sit there and listen._

 _What if he comes back and doesn't need me anymore? If I get my hopes up and he returns and doesn't want me… I don't know what I'll do. Is it worth the risk?_

 _I'm here at the fork in the road and I don't know which way to turn. I want to wait for you, James, but I've got to take a step before I know which way you're going—or have already gone. Are we walking down the same street? Will I catch up with you? Or will I turn my head to see you on the other road? I've gotta take a step, I can't stand in place, time won't let me. I'm praying again, praying that I take the right step because I can say it now: I want to follow you. Here I go, James, with my first step…_

"Natasha?" Steve called her name again, blue eyes peering into her face with concern. "Everything okay?"

"I miss James."

Steve's jaw dropped at her confession. "Oh, my word…"

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Duet" by Rachael Yamagata_

* * *

"Your friends are worried sick about you." Jane's voice cut through James' thoughts as they stood on the balcony and watched the pink and orange Asgardian sunrise.

Jane had appeared that morning by slamming open the doors to Thor's study, sending James' blood pressure through the roof and almost causing him to drop his bowl of oatmeal—he couldn't be sure what kind of Earthly cuisine the Asgardian had been exposed to, but James was too grateful to Thor for his kindness to admit that bright pink mush-of-grain was _not_ oatmeal.

"They thought you were being held here against your will," Jane went on when James didn't answer, his elbows resting against the stone railing. "Actually, that's what _I_ thought, before I got here. It'd be just like Thor to barrel forward without telling anyone what he was doing. I was gonna give him an earful and come to your rescue."

"I asked him to let me stay here for a while." James admitted, still staring at the colors of the sunrise.

"A few weeks is _not_ a while." Jane cocked her head and raised a brow, following James' example and leaning her elbows against stone. "You keep saying that you wanted to come here, but are you _ever_ planning on going back?"

James' jaw muscles worked. "I don't know, yet."

"I heard about what happened at the Hydra hideout." Jane spoke on.

James blew out an irritated breath. "You don't know the whole of it. And I don't want to talk about it."

"But _that's_ why you're here." Jane pointed out. "If you don't deal with it soon, you won't go back any time soon, and then Natasha…" Jane looked embarrassed. "I think that's the real reason they called me."

"What's wrong with Natasha?" James couldn't stop the flurry of overprotectiveness that suddenly swarmed his chest. The pinprick of his heart. The stab of truth. No, _she_ didn't _need_ him. _He_ needed _her_ , but he was working on repairing himself enough to be around her again.

"Well, she's…" Jane bit her lip. "Er, I don't know how to say it… She's pining? Ugh, that's probably not—"

James snorted. "That doesn't sound like her."

Jane held her hands up. "I haven't talked to her myself, so I _don't know_ , but Steve Rogers was pretty determined when he called me. James," She turned her head and looked him in the eye, demanding his attention. "Steve seemed really, really pissed off. He said that if you really meant what you said to him about her, you'd come home right-the-hell now."

"Steve said that?" James was amused.

"I was censoring, he actually dropped an F-bomb." Jane rolled her eyes and shook her head. "And that was coming from clean, pristine Captain America, whom I've heard calls other people out on their language."

James' head ducked. Yeah. _That_ didn't sound like _Steve_. But if Jane was as shaken up by it, then it wasn't a lie.

"I mean what I said," James said aloud, but to himself. "But it doesn't change the problem."

"Then what's the problem, James?" Jane held her hands up in irritation. "Are you going to sit here and mope forever?"

"If I go back now, I could kill someone." James started to fume. The words were tumbling out of his mouth, unbidden and full of his fears. "Someone could accidentally say one of the trigger words in the back of my consciousness, I could turn into a machine again—I could slit their throats and I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I've been trained to do this thing, this awful thing!" He was starting to shout. "And I can't let it kill Steve or Natasha because they're all I've got!"

Jane didn't look phased by James' outburst, but then he realized she _was_ dating the god of thunder. "You love Natasha." Jane pointed out.

He nodded, strands of his hair escaping from the pleats someone had braided. "I might have put a bullet in my brain to quiet the ghosts if not for Natasha. Something about her touched what was left of my humanity."

Jane let out an exasperated sigh and threw her hands up in the air. "You know what's irritating? Watching two people want and need each other, but acting like they don't because they don't understand how much the _other_ person wants and needs them! It's a hopeless soap opera, James—and I would know, Darcy watches them—and it's ridiculous!"

James didn't look up from the railing, but he was smiling, obviously entertained by Jane's frustration. "You think I'm trying to complicate things?"

"Yes," Jane crossed her arms, getting a hold on herself and exhaling sharply. "Yes, I do." She tapped her foot for a moment and then turned fully to James. "Is the problem with the trigger words all there is? I mean, is there anything stopping you from being with _her_ other than that?"

"No," James shook his head, wondering what she was getting at.

"M'kay," she nodded, bobbing her head enthusiastically. "Then it's not a problem." She quickly took his hand and pulled him inside, away from the balcony. "We can fix this."

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 _._

* * *

 _Listen to "Requim" by Lights and Motion_

* * *

Natasha shook away the disorientation from her head, counting her breaths and waiting for her stomach to settle from the effects of being transported between worlds. It actually hadn't been that bad, she mused. Steve was not so lucky.

"I'm fine," He lied, groaning and doubling over beside her with his arms around his middle. "Just gimme' a minute."

The sky above was a strange and dizzying array of colors—blue, purple, and green, like the northern lights— and while Natasha could appreciate it for its beauty, it wasn't familiar and therefore set her on edge. The gleaming city on the other side of the bridge could have been likened to Oz for all its size and grandeur. It was alien in every sense of the word.

Natasha looked out over the multi-colored bridge before them, trying to ignore the low sound of rushing water beneath it. "Heads up, Steve."

Rogers' shook his head as Natasha had done and looked up just in time to see the two figures approaching them from the other side of the bridge. One was very obviously Thor, his blond hair and red cape standing out from his surroundings, but the other figure was shorter and darker.

"Bucky?" Steve was having trouble believing it was him—so was Natasha.

James' brown hair was pulled back into a braid, the tip just long enough to fall over his shoulder where a dark blue cloak fell neatly over his frame and swayed with his very confident gate. The black and blue clothes beneath the cloak were very non-descript, but still very Asgardian. Greeting them with a tentative smile, James looked torn between his joy in seeing them and the fear that they might be angry.

Despite her many days of fuming, Natasha felt anything but angry right now.

"My friends!" Thor raised his hands and beamed at them. "Welcome to my home!"

James looked like he wanted to say something, but he settled on nodding his head at the two of them, coming to stand before them while Thor stood a short distance behind.

"Not bad," Steve waved a hand at his friend's clothes.

"Thanks," James' lips crept into a cheeky grin. The both of them stood and looked at each other without words, unsure who should move first, and then James threw all caution to the wind and stepped forward to put his arms around Steve's shoulders. Sighing in relief and gripping tightly around James' shoulders, Steve patted his back once, looking as though he might never let go.

"You're a punk." Steve grumbled into his friend's neck.

James's breathy laugh was hesitant. "That's my line, right? I remember that."

"Yeah, well, next time _remember_ to tell us where you're going and how long you'll be staying there." Steve said sternly, though he looked too pleased to see James in good health to hold on to his aggravation. Reluctantly, he let go of his friend and went to stand behind the blue-cloaked man. James was looking somewhat expectantly at Natasha, who had remained still and silent until now.

 _._

* * *

 _Listen to "All This Time" by One Republic_

* * *

He was leaner at the waist than she remembered, and his shoulders were broader. Asgardian food was definitely agreeing with him—he might even be able to match Steve! But no matter how much her eyes roamed his healthy frame or took in his waiting expression, her muscles froze her where she was.

Steve, still standing behind James, rolled his eyes at the two of them and nudged James none-too-gently, causing him to collide with Natasha. Automatically, James arms went out to break their fall and he gripped Natasha around the waist, stopping himself from toppling her over with wide eyes and an apologetic expression.

She snorted at Steve, but didn't resist when James kept his hold on her waist, straightening himself out and looking down at her in silence. He kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, but obviously no words were coming to his mind. That left it up to her.

"I missed you." She confessed, watching his eyes light up as a grin spread over his face.

Still grinning, he sighed through his nose, hands twitching against her ribs. "All right, give it to me." He raised an eyebrow at her. "The works. Gimme' the works and don't hold back."

A low breath of frustration erupted from her throat before she launched the tirade of her thoughts. "A month? A month, James?" She smacked lightly against his shoulder, but he didn't let go. "And then we have to track down Thor's girlfriend to get in contact with you? Only to find out that he brought you here because you asked him to? All this time, I've been telling myself that you were taken from us—but _you left_!"

James raised an eyebrow at her, hands still gripping at her sides.

"And now you're all friendly again and want us to come visit you in your new home! Are you happy? You'd better be." She closed her eyes and blew out another breath of frustration before looking him in the eye. "There. Done."

"Good." He bent down and claimed her lips in a hard kiss, teeth clicking against hers as his arms dipped her slightly backwards, pulling her closer to him and pressing against her. Natasha was vaguely aware of Steve and Thor suddenly falling into conversation as though they weren't witness to the passionate reunion, but her senses were drowning in James' scent and taste and touch. When he pulled away from her, James put his hands on her shoulders and ducked his head to be eye-level with her.

"I was being an overly-cautious idiot. You and Steve are too important for me to lose. Asgard _isn't_ home. Earth is home. _You_ are home." James shifted his weight, but his eyes continued to pierce Natasha's. "Forgive me. Please, forgive me."

The recollection of the last time he'd said those words was branded in Natasha's mind, an eerie echo of a time that felt both recent and long ago, when he'd been pulled from the cryogenics tank.

Natasha nodded, mouth pressing into a line. "Just don't do something like that again."

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled, grabbing her hand in his and leading her to where Thor and Steve stood.

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 **re`con`cil`ia`tion: restoring to friendly means**

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 _This is unedited, so I apologize for typos- please point them out if you see them! By the way-_ _Comic book references :) Been doing some marvel homework and had to put it there ;)_

 _So, I've got a number of chapters all mapped out – about seven more—and ready to be written, but if anyone here has a prompt for me, I would be very happy to write it out! I'll probably do a few one-shots after this story is wrapped up, so I would love it if you would tell me a scene you'd like to see come to text. Leave me a message, as detailed or vague as you like, and we'll see what we can cook up together!_

 _Responses to reviews for chapter 21:_

 _ **TardisAJB:**_ _I can't help myself with the evil laugh :) Poor Natasha has been through enough, I agree—time to put an end to that misery!_

 _ **Steve r0gers:**_ _I wanted her to be resistant to Steve's encouragement because she didn't want to give way to how much she actually misses James. And thank you for the compliment! :)_

 _ **Mmelody6:**_ _:D!_

 _Thank you so much to all who are following and favoriting this story!_


	24. 23 -Regeneration

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 23 - Regeneration**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "An Ending, A Beginning" by Dustin O'Halloran_

* * *

The echoes of sound against the stone walls of the hallway were not loud, but Natasha's ears picked up on each of them: the shuffle of Thor's boots as he led them down into the deep bowels of Asgard's bronze palace, James' nervous and reluctant gait as he followed behind Natasha, the quiet murmurs of encouragement Steve was whispering to his friend, and even the soft foot-falls of Jane's tiny shoes at the rear of their party. James' bleak bearing could have overshadowed the rest of their optimistic expressions, but he continued to move silently as Thor indicated that they should enter a room lit by torches.

The room was wide, tall, and empty, the scratchy black surfaces convincing Natasha that this was nothing more than an oversized prison cell. But it would serve their purposes perfectly.

They all stepped into the room, looking around at the torches that lined the walls, when James immediately protested, "Natasha doesn't need to be in here."

"It won't be a problem," She rolled her eyes at him, but Steve was instantly at her side, muttering low into her ear.

"Don't make this any harder for him." Steve faced away from James, whispering to Natasha. "He didn't even want to do _this_ —don't make him turn back now because you think he's calling you incapable."

Resentment burrowed through Natasha's core, but not because she was offended. It was because _he was right._ She selfishly wanted to be in the room with James during this test because she thought she could handle it, and not entirely because she thought she could offer some support.

"Please," Steve's voice softened and he put a hand on her shoulder. Natasha nodded half-heartedly, passing by James and heading for the door. But then she stopped in her tracks and turned back, reaching up to his face with a hand and kissing his jawline. He turned his head into the kiss, sliding his lips to hers as his fingers fumbled with the clasp of the heavy cloak over his shoulders.

"Take care of this for me?" James reverently held out the dark blue cloak to her, priceless treasure that it was, though she knew its emotional value to him was even more.

"You'll do fine." She lent him a small smile, taking the heavy covering from him and folding it over her arm, hoping her eyes mirrored her confidence. Before he could respond, she turned again and strode through the doorway. In a short moment of weakness, Natasha turned to Jane and whispered, "Tell me we can override Hydra's programming. Tell me you're right about this."

Jane was taken aback, hands pausing over the heavy lock on the door, looking Natasha up and down as though uncertain she should answer such a question.

"I… can't." Jane's brows scrunched in sympathy. "I mean, I don't _know_ —that's why we're testing this—I could say I'm _confident?_ — but I don't want to give you a fixed answer—that's not how science works—and even though the brain is a lot like—"

Natasha grinned wryly at the young woman. "Thank you."

Jane was bewildered, obviously not expecting that kind of a response.

"Thank you for telling me the truth. It's a hard answer, but it's the truth."

"You're…welcome? I guess." Jane shook her head in confusion, turning her attention to the barred window in the door and watching the three men that stood inside of the room.

"Are you ready?" Steve nodded toward James.

"No," James snorted, causing Steve to pause, and then James rolled his eyes at the blond. "Doin' it anyway. Let's get this over with."

"Jane." Thor called to her, a signal that made Natasha's heart pump faster.

"Ms. Romanov?" Jane bit her lip in embarrassment. "Tell me the words again. I forgot…"

Natasha's eyes met James', even through the bars of the door, and in their own silent way they sent each other strength for what was to come.

"Icarus," Natasha whispered to Jane, "flew into the sun wearing…"

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Heavy In Your Arms" by Florence + The Machine_

* * *

"…wax wings."

When Jane spoke the words aloud from the other side of the door, James felt his limbs seize and his mind go blank. He could feel the nothingness creep over him; that terrifyingly stillness that made his head and body feel like an empty cavity, waiting to be filled with… orders.

Orders. He waited.

As if underwater, he heard the numb-sounding murmurs of two figures beside him, but his senses were trained on the one voice giving the command. _Order me. I'm yours._

"Attack," It finally came, but it sounded more like a question than a command. No matter. Orders were orders.

Snapping from his frozen stance, the Winter Soldier took into account the size of his opponents, their build, and known skill-set. He grabbed at the shorter of them, a strangle-hold over the man's neck, and used it to anchor him as the momentum of his running feet launched his legs into the air, catching the larger man off-guard as he kicked at that enemy's face. _Two opponents_ , varying in size and strength, and he still had a few seconds to act on the element of surprise. Not a large advantage, but there was no choice… orders were orders.

His ears had been released from the numbness and he could hear their shouts clearly now, one of them calling out a name— _Bucky?—_ and the other apparently trying to calm him with his deep baritone voice. Good. Sentiment would stop them from being effective, but the Winter Soldier was nothing if not effective.

Landing on his feet, the Winter Soldier felt for the knife that should have been at his side and came up with nothing, but swung out with a heavy blow from his metal arm despite the weapon's absence. He caught the smaller of the men by the legs, causing him to topple backwards, before striking out with his other arm to quicken the man's descent by pushing him down into the floor.

The short man crashed into the stone, causing veins of rock underneath him to crackle in a spider-web pattern, and he was about to bring his elbow down heavily on the man's windpipe when the Winter Soldier's ears picked up another order.

It was spoken in a strange language, but it pierced his head just as sharply as the jagged edge of a knife, creeping all the way into his neck and traveling down his spine in a painful, fragmenting pattern until he thought his bones would crumble within his skin.

"Sleep." Said the commanding voice. The Winter Soldier's mind quickly drifted into slumber, falling through the black waters of consciousness to that deep abyss where even dreams did not dare to go.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Cemetary" By James Newton Howard_

* * *

James blinked into torchlight, eyes groggily focusing on a black, stone ceiling. Where was he? His unfamiliarity with the setting unnerved him to the bottom of his spine, a cold sweat working its way up his back and over his forehead.

"Bucky?"

Steve. _Oh, thank God! Steve!_ Even if he didn't know where he was, Steve was there.

"Steve," James' voice cracked. He couldn't shake the panic, couldn't stop the shivers and the cold sweat. "Um… where?"

Steve's face appeared above him and the blond smiled with victory. "It worked, Buck. Jane's programming—Thor's 'anti-trigger word'—it worked."

"Oh," James' voice broke again, even at this simple word. Stop shivering, damn it! "That's… that's good…" His head was clear, but his emotional responses were through the roof. If he couldn't slow down his heartbeat or steady his breathing, he was going to have an anxiety attack.

Steve immediately picked up on his friend's distress. "Can I touch you? Is that okay? Can I help you up?"

Too many questions. But, yes, it would be nice if Steve would help him up—especially when he didn't think he could manage the motion with his frayed nerves. He still couldn't stop the shaking…

Steve's hands crept under his neck and waist, gently raising him until he was sitting up, and James' internal compass was suddenly spinning out of control. Hands shooting out to wrap around Steve for anchoring, James' face pressed against his friend's chest and he struggled to maintain even breathing.

"It's okay," Steve kept a firm hold on James' weak frame. "You're disoriented. Count, Buck, start counting. Measured breaths."

A few moments later, James' head was set right again—the test. They'd performed the test, counter-acting Hydra's code words with the new words Jane and Thor had 'programmed' into him. And it had been a success. James wanted to feel relieved—he wanted to process that success—he wanted more than anything to admit that it was safe to go back to Earth—but the feeling of raw, sensitive fear running through his veins wouldn't settle down.

"Steve," There was no embarrassment when his voice broke this time. He took in another deep breath, closing his wet eyes and pressing his nose further into Rogers' chest. "Take me home."

.

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 **re`gen`er`a`tion: the action or process of renewing something**

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* * *

 _Short chapter is short. I've got to warn you—the next chapter is going to be nothing but joyous fluff. I think I've proven by now just how hardcore these characters are—it's time to slip in some happy :)_

 _Response to reviews:_

 _ **KnowInsight:**_ _Squee!_

 _ **Qweb:**_ _I'm really hoping to sketch something for this soon! Or perhaps I can find someone with more talent who can bring that "Asgardian Bucky" to life!_

 _ **Mmelody6:**_ _:D!_

 _ **Isabelele:**_ _Thank you very much!_

 _ **Cairistiona7**_ _: I'd heard that quote floating around and finally got a truckload of comics in the mail and saw where it was from! I just had to… :)_

 _ **TardisAJB**_ _: Shipping all the way! :D!_

 _A big thank you to all followers! How are there 48 of you already? That's amazing! And almost 9,000 views? Wowza! Thank you so much :)_


	25. 24 -Reciprocation

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 24 – Reciprocation**_

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WARNING: Unabashed, Shameless fluff!

* * *

 _Listen to "Kiss Me" by Ed Sheeran_

* * *

Steve barely made it to the kitchen trashcan before unleashing the contents of his stomach. Natasha and James had been fighting similar reactions when the Asgardian beam of light had returned their footing to the entertainment room at Stark Tower, but thankfully the dizziness—for them, at least—subsided quickly.

"Steve…" James peered into the kitchen, brows knit together. "You gonna' be okay?"

Steve managed to pull himself up, lowering to the trashcan only once more, to spit out the awful taste in his mouth. "I don't know how you—" _Spit_ "—can handle that. Makes me sick."

"You've had a lot more practice being sick than I have, pal." James muttered humorously.

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed past his friend, playfully nudging at his shoulder as Steve said, "That's enough space travel for me today—you need me for anything, I'll be sleeping this off."

Natasha stepped up beside James. "How about you? Got any plans?"

"Yeah, actually," James nodded at her, hooking his arm over her shoulders and pulling her toward his room. "I need a haircut."

"Oh?" She grinned at him, tugging at his waist and veering them to her room instead. "Any idea of what you want?"

"Sort of," James bit his lip, peering through her doorway as though he were nervous about entering. She took a few steps in, waiting for him to follow, but could almost see him thinking that this was new territory for him. It was one thing for her to come and "save" him from nightmares in his own room, but it was another thing entirely for him to enter _her_ space without permission. Maybe it was part of training—be it Commando or Soldier—or maybe it was just a gentlemanly notion that he hadn't been invited in.

Natasha leaned forward to catch his hand, sending him a friendly smile and pulling him through the doorway to take those first steps.

"Well?" She ushered him into the bathroom, grabbing a long towel from the rack and handing it to him before searching for clippers.

"Would it be strange if I said that I wanted it long, but I also wanted it short?" Leaning against the bathroom doorframe, James' head was ducked, but his eyes were raised, trying to read her for something.

"Just as long as we're not talking about a mullet." She winked at him, setting the scissors down on the countertop and crossing her arms.

"A what?" His eyes lowered in confusion, but then popped up as a memory played in his head. "Oh! No, no, no… No. Really, _really_ , no." And then he snorted in laughter and stepped over to her, resting his hands on her hips and looking down into her face. "I'm open to suggestions. In fact, I'm _very_ open to _your_ suggestions." A lopsided grin pulled at his lips. "Anything you'd like to see me wear on this broken head of mine?"

"Hmm," Natasha wasn't ready for how much it thrilled her that he would allow her to choose his hairstyle, let alone cut it for him. "I've got an idea or two. But first, that beard's gotta go."

"I couldn't agree more." He stroked the frizzy whiskers lining his jaw. And then all at once his eyes flickered with something and he took a step back from her. "D'you mind if I… do _that_ part myself?"

"No, I don't mind, James." Natasha said comfortingly. She understood— someone holding a blade to his throat wasn't something he was ready for.

He removed his dark blue cloak slowly, laying it out on the bed with no small amount of respect, and that's when Natasha saw that it had silver etchings along the edges.

"Are those stars or frost?" Natasha wanted to reach out and touch it, but resisted, fearing she might upset something solemn between James and his Asgardian gift.

"Believe it or not, I asked the same question," James grinned, fondly smoothing out the folds. He must have seen her fascination with it because he reached out to grasp her hand at the wrist and moved her hand across the fabric as though to say that it didn't bother him if she touched it. It was soft, like velvet, and had a weight to it that was sure to block out even the worst chill. Something stirred inside of Natasha, a sort of smug satisfaction that Thor had taken such good care of James and she promised herself she wouldn't forget that kindness.

"I asked if Thor if he gave this to me because my operative name was _Winter_ Soldier. He had a good laugh over that one." James' lips quirked, obviously replaying the account in his head. "Thor said that frost and stars are almost the same thing—cold can burn and extreme heat can chill— except that one drowns out the light and one radiates it. He told me I had a choice between being one or the other."

"You're getting all sorts of savory advice from helpful people." Natasha smirked. "Make sure you listen to it."

"Yes, ma'am." James sent her that cocky grin that was too charming for her to ignore.

It took some time for him to become clean-shaven, standing in front of Natasha's sink with clippers and a razor, but his hard work paid off. He looked more like the man Natasha had come to know in their time together at the Tower and there was something about his bare facial structure that Natasha couldn't keep her eyes from. Oh, gods of Asgard, James was handsome…

"Better?" James wiped his chin off with a towel.

"Much," She said, keeping her answer simple so her voice wouldn't squeak. The blush on her cheeks must have been a dead giveaway because James was chuckling at her and nodding his head in approval.

"My turn with the scissors." She shook her head at him with a grin. "Sit."

He lowered himself into a chair they'd dragged in front of the bathroom sink and waved off the towel Natasha was offering to wrap around his neck and shoulders. "It's a little confining," he admitted, his bare chest heaving out a sigh.

"Are you gonna' be okay with this?" Natasha held up the clippers. The last thing she wanted to do was bring on a panicked episode when he'd already shaken one off only an hour ago.

James heaved another sigh. "Not sure. But I know you'll stop if I need to you."

Natasha nodded. "There's ways to distract you, to make this easier." And without explaining herself, she sat down in his lap, facing him with her legs out on either side. He clearly hadn't been ready for it, but the not-so-subtle grin on his face said that it wasn't unwelcome, reinforced by the way his hands were sliding around her waist to grip her just below her ribs.

"Don't tickle, I've got scissors." Natasha reprimanded him, running her fingers through the long locks and measuring the inches from his scalp.

"Not thinking about tickling," He answered breathily, squeezing her waist to emphasize his point.

Measure, snip, comb. "Still nervous?"

"Nope," He answered with a gulp. "Definitely distracted."

Natasha stifled a laugh, but did nothing to hide the mischief in her smile. Clip, Clip, measure.

"The Black Widow is ticklish?" James' eyebrows drew together, as though he'd suddenly realized what she'd said.

"Yes," She hissed at him, concentrating on a dark lock of brown hair that wasn't cooperating. "But there aren't many people that know that."

"Aw, I'm special." He batted his eyes at her. "What other deep secrets do you keep?"

"You're awful greedy, aren't you?" She almost stuck her tongue out at him, but then watched his short braid fall to the floor. _Bye bye, hair._

"Only with you." He murmured, as if he weren't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"All right. Secrets…" Natasha mused on the word and stopped using the clippers to look him in the eye, giving him all of her attention for a moment. "I'm incredibly tactile."

"That's a secret?" James raised an eyebrow at her.

"It has to be." She rolled her eyes. "Hard to admit that I like to be touched when most of what I get is a sharp kick to the face." James brow crinkled with anger at the thought of anyone kicking her in the face, but she raised her hands to continue cutting his hair and spoke on, not allowing him to dwell on it. "But now it doesn't have to be a secret. Now it's just… _advice_. For you."

In response, he smoothed a hand under her shirt, pressing his fleshly palm against the bare skin at her back while his prosthetic fingers rubbed small circles over the shirt at her side. "Something I won't soon forget." He looked thoughtful, but Natasha didn't like where his brooding thoughts might take him.

"Do I get to learn any of _your_ secrets?" She continued to measure out sections of hair.

James snorted. "You probably know 'em all."

"Come on," Natasha goaded. "Not everything in your head was written in files. Tell me something only you know."

"I like redheads." He quipped, squeezing her backside.

"Good to know—anything else?" She leaned back, appraising her work and correcting small mistakes. She rose up from her seating in his lap and went to stand behind him, but he caught her hand, causing her to look down at his affectionate eyes.

"I used to like dancing. Not so sure I can pull it off anymore. S'okay. I used to like watching it just as much."

The confession touched Natasha because she could see that he was being open with her—not a hint for her to fulfill some wish of his, just a recollection of a time when "fun" came a little easier for the now-burdened man.

The electric razor came out next and James flinched, the sound causing his teeth to set on edge.

"It's okay, James." Natasha set the razor on the countertop, circling around to kneel in front of him. "It's okay. If it's too much—"

James reached forward with a desperate expression, pressing his lips to hers with an insecure need for her closeness. His hand was clutching at the back of her head, but the grip was born of fear and not control. Natasha gently stroke at his newly-shaven cheeks, reassuring him with the touch of her fingers and the press of her lips. When she pulled away from him, it was only to look up at him and ask if he wanted to keep going. He snickered that _of course he would like to keep going, but they were in the middle of a haircut_ and so she circled around once more to stand behind him, running her fingers through his shorter hair in slow, soothing motions.

He swallowed as she turned on the buzzer again, but Natasha knew exactly what she was doing and how to do it quickly. It wasn't long before the razor was turned off, drawing a sigh of relief from his nervous lips.

"James," She said his name softly, standing beside him and seeing that his eyes were crammed shut. "James, open your eyes. It's done."

Blinking open slowly, his blue eyes registered on the small mirror in Natasha's hands, taking in his reflection and turning his head so that he could see every angle. Small clusters of shaven hair fell from his shoulders as he rose from the chair, twisting around to face the large bathroom mirror behind him.

From the top of his head to the crown, the brown locks were inches long, but swept back—and downward from the sides he was gradually shaven almost to his skull.

"It's called an undercut," Natasha said after James was silent for a moment too long.

"I used to do somethin' a bit like this," He ran his fingers through the top. "In the 40's. This is more… modern." He turned to face her. "I like it." James fingers twitched, and in a rare moment of courage, he cocked his head at the shower and winked at her. "I need to wash the bits of hair offa' my shoulders. You wanna' join me?"

.

* * *

" _Honey Jars" Bryan John Appleby_

* * *

Steve rubbed away the remnants of sleep from his eyes and groggily padded down the hallway from his room on bare feet. His two-hour catnap had actually sapped him of energy and he was in desperate need of coffee. War-time had taught him the value of that blessed substance, that amber-colored nectar of life, but the super-serum had erased all hope of coffee ever being of use to Captain America again. That is, until Steve had mentioned it to Tony.

Steve reached into the kitchen cabinet to retrieve his "special blend" of "dark roast", custom-made and tested by none other than the billionaire genius who owned the building they were living in, when it struck him that _Bucky_ might finally be able to have some as well. It had been a long time since he'd shared a steaming cup of joe with his friend, made longer by Bucky's inability to eat certain things since his capture with Hydra, but Steve determined with his foggy mind to find Bucky and at least ask.

Padding back down the hallway, Steve nudged open the door to James' room, not entirely surprised to find it empty. His feet shuffled further down the hallway to Natasha's room, and he'd only meant to _knock_ on the door, but it wasn't shut all the way and his fingers accidentally nudged it to swing open. He caught it before it banged against the wall, eyes widening at the sight before him.

Natasha and Bucky were curled into each other on the bed, sleeping, arms wound tight around waist and shoulder, and legs tangled together. Bucky's Asgardian cloak was—thankfully!—draped over the both of them, but they were clearly unclothed and had recently come from a shower. There was an indent in part of the metal headboard above them, curiously shaped, but definitely work of Bucky's mechanical hand. Steve didn't have to think hard to know why the indent was there.

He hadn't meant to stare, hadn't meant to walk in on such a private moment, and was reaching for the door handle to close it as quietly as he could manage when Bucky stirred.

Bucky's face was pressed into the top of Natasha's head, her own face burrowed somewhere into the bend of his neck, and his eyes fluttered open as he softly tilted his head on the pillow to look at the door. And when he locked eyes with Steve and smiled comfortably, Steve's sense of awkwardness abated and gave way to a deep-felt relief. He couldn't remember the last time Bucky had looked so content and safe.

 _Everything okay?_ Bucky asked silently.

Steve nodded quickly, not masking his blushing smile as he continued to close the door, sticking his head through the opening at the last moment and mouthing _Coffee?_

Bucky's eyebrows rose and his eyes widened. _Coffee?_

 _Yeah,_ Steve pointed toward the kitchen, disappearing from the doorway. He couldn't stop grinning as he measured the scoop of roasted beans into the coffee grinder, pressing the top of it and taking care to keep the grinds coarse and not too fine.

"It's not gonna' do anything for me," James appeared beside Steve in black sweatpants, watching Steve's delicate workings over the art that was coffee. "But just the taste of it will be enough. Is there any chocolate?"

Steve shot him a wry grin. "I didn't forget." He slid the bar of chocolate across the counter-top to Bucky as he poured the grounds into the glass French press. "And you just wait until you've had some of this— _Tony_ cooked it up."

"What's so special about that?" James' raised a brow at him. "What'd he put in it?"

Steve shook his head. "You'll have to ask him—I don't mind not knowing, because the 'caffeine' in it _works_."

James smirked, shaking his head at Steve and pulling a mug from the cupboard. "It could be the leftover grease from his Iron-man suit, or Hulk-sweat, or—"

"You're disgusting," Steve twisted his face and stuck out his tongue, pouring the steaming water into the French press and setting the lid over the top. "All right, five minutes and we're in good shape." He turned his attention to James, pointing at the new haircut. "I like it. It's kind of…"

"Modern," James supplied, running his fingers through it. "And still a lot like how we used to wear it."

"I don't know about 'we'—I still wear my hair the same way I used to."

"That's cause you're not brave enough to do something different."

"Don't need different." Steve mumbled.

James snorted. "So, here you are, trying to get me accustomed to the twentieth century, and you won't even take _that_ small step forward." He crossed his arms. "Are you waiting for Tony to build a time machine so you can hop back to the 1940's?"

If Bucky expected him to laugh, Steve's heart wasn't in it and he inwardly asked himself the same question. "It'd be easier…" He admitted aloud.

James studied Steve's face intently. "Steve, that's… it's futile, you know that? We're not going back. There's no… we gotta' keep moving forward. You told me the serum is gonna' keep you alive for a lot longer than the average guy, right?"

"I know," Steve nodded in irritation, eyes resting on the French press and jawline tensing. "I'll live through even more changing-of-the-times, I know." He didn't want to admit it, but there was a small nagging voice at the back of his head telling him to confide in Bucky—Steve had been asking for Bucky to share, it was only fair that he do it, too. "There was a shield agent. Name was Coulsen. He was a good friend. We were talking about the suit for Captain America and I asked if he didn't think the stars and stripes were a little old fashioned."

Steve looked up to see that James was listening intently and he went on. "He said that with everything that was happening in the world, maybe it could use a little more old fashioned."

James nodded thoughtfully. " _Was_ a good friend? So he's…?"

"Yeah." Steve rubbed his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Steve tried to smile encouragingly. "He died for something he believed in. Couldn't ask for a better death than that, right?"

"You're something morbid, you know that?" James shook his head at Rogers. "We were talking about haircuts and you had to go and turn it into a speech about truth, justice, and the American—"

"Stop it," Steve rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't change the point, Stevie," James fixed him with a playful scowl that was too much of a smile to be anything but mischief, lifting himself up to sit on the countertop and look down at his friend. "We'll get you integrated with the twentieth century. _I'm_ here now and there's nothing left to stop you."

"Stop him from what?" Natasha stepped into the room in a cotton robe that clung to her curvy frame.

"From using a cell phone the right way, for one," James winked at Steve. Natasha came to stand between James' dangling legs, her half-cocked smile showing that she agreed with James as he rested his hands against the bend of her neck, thumbs rubbing in small circles to massage the muscles there.

If Steve had any reservations about them being together, those concerns were demolished by the casual way they gravitated toward each other and that look of belonging in Bucky's face.

"Is that a French press?" Natasha nodded at the glass container. She reached out a hand toward the pump at the top. "Do I get to—"

"No!" James and Steve reached out to stop her hand at the same time. Natasha's face wrinkled into shocked confusion and she withdrew her hand slowly.

"It needs another two minutes to steep." Steve tried to explain himself, but Natasha was already shaking her head at the both of them in humorous disapproval.

James continued to rub circles into her neck while she crossed her arms. "It's a science—" He tried to excuse his outburst.

"Yeah, yeah." She shook her head with a grin that was far from grumpy. "Coffee snobs."

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Tell Me Where You've Been" by Hotel Eden_

* * *

"Look who's back!" Sam clapped a hand on James' shoulder.

"Sorry about that," James started to say, but Steve cut him off.

"Stop apologizing to every person that welcomes you back."

Natasha squeezed James' hand to reinforce the sentiment when Tony arrived at the entertainment room with a six pack of Guinness in one hand and a set of movies in the other.

"I'm absolutely astounded." Stark looked toward the group standing behind the couches. "Not only are you brave enough to admit you've never seen Star Wars, but you're inviting _me_ to movie night in my own tower. I brought beer."

"No," came a voice from behind him, belonging to a struggling Rhodey as he hauled two bags on each arm. " _I_ brought beer."

Steve scurried over to help Rhodey set the bags down in the kitchen while Tony argued that taste was subjective and the alcoholic beverage in question would need to be sampled to provide enough information to form a proper conclusion. Thor, appearing from the kitchen with two blue boxes on his shoulders, announced that he had brought sustenance for movie-night as well, courtesy of Darcy Lewis.

"What's—" James squinted to read the label on the blue boxes. "—pop tarts?"

Tony made a dramatic gasp and clapped his hands against his face, pretending he was going to pass out from the shock, but then recovered enough to say, "You'll find out soon enough, but one of those is entirely for him, ya know?"

"That is only partly true, friend Stark." Thor smiled, opening the boxes and dumping the contents out on the coffee table. "I shall only require fourteen of these."

Sam doubled over with laughter, clapping his hands and letting out an amused whoop. "I thought _I_ had a sugar problem."

"Where's Bruce?" Tony was looking around the room. "I need someone to help make snarky sciencey comments with."

As soon as Bruce appeared, a loud holler of, "Hey!" Erupted from Tony, Sam, Rhodey, Thor, and Clint. Bruce was startled, wondering what they were Hey-ing about, but the touch of a button on Tony's remote closed the blinds of the wall-sized window and the lights dimmed plunging the entertainment room into perfect movie-watching darkness.

Three couches, all situated to curve around the enormous screen in front of them, were just enough for the crowd that had gathered for Steve, James, and Thor's introduction to Star Wars. James sat at one end of the main couch, mechanical elbow resting on the black leather armrest, with Natasha leaning against his chest with a bottle of beer in one hand and his fleshly hand in the other. He was eyeing the silver pouches Thor had put on the table and leaned over to grab one, but hesitated when Natasha warned him that he might not want to try it.

"Do not listen," Thor goaded, leaning forward from his seat and tossing a pop-tart pouch in James' direction, which he caught easily. "This is a treasure beyond the delights you have yet known."

Sam was laughing on the other side of Natasha, but Steve—who sat at the edge of the second couch, which was propped up beside James' seat—was agreeing with Natasha that he might want to take it easy on the frosted, gooey pastry.

They were halfway into the first movie when Tony began objecting to theories of propulsion, with Thor correcting a formula on the insistence that the millennium falcon couldn't sustain enough gravitational push to—

And that's when the pop tart James had eaten tried to make an appearance again. He shot up from the couch and dashed to the bathroom. Natasha had almost fallen face-forward with the absence of his shoulder and heard his muffled groans as his stomach cleared itself of the sugary treat he'd been swallowing so happily only an hour before-hand.

"Pop tarts: 1. James Barnes: 0." Tony shook his head. "Next time, you should just bring him some poison—"

"I am truly sorry," Thor said to Steve with heavy guilt. "I hadn't intended—"

"It wasn't your fault," Steve held up a hand, rising from his seat to check on James at the same time Natasha did.

"Pause it," She heard Sam scold Tony.

Natasha's ears picked up on a gush of liquid and she tentatively stuck her head through the doorway of the bathroom, Steve pausing behind just her. James looked up at Natasha miserably, his real hand on the floor and his mechanical hand resting over the toilet seat. Splinters of ceramic wove in a crackling pattern from the seat to the base.

"Think I…" James spit. "Think I broke your toilet."

"Well, seeing as it isn't really mine…" Natasha knelt beside James, offering him a wet towel to wipe his face with.

"Can I get you anything?" Steve looked partially amused and partially concerned.

James shook his head. "Thor's crazy." He rose to his feet, rubbing the wet towel over his face and leaning over to spit one last time. "But I love him anyway."

The rest of the movie-marathon was uneventful, except for two instances. The first had been when Thor had insisted Darth Vader needed to be taken out—and Stark's firm rebuttal that Thor would not be saying the same thing at the end of the second movie. No one had been ready for Thor's indignant reaction upon learning that Darth Vader was, in fact, Luke Skywalker's father. The large man had been so distraught that he walked from the room and paced through the hallways of the tower, only returning when Tony insisted that the third movie would solve everything.

The second instance had been much quieter…

Natasha felt the way James' hand fluttered over her side when Han Solo was about to be encased in carbonite and she momentarily wondered if she shouldn't distract him—was this too close to what had happened with him in the cryogenics tank? James' hand was painfully squeezing at her hip now, but she let it, reaching up a hand to stroke along his cheek, reassuring him that she was there and that he was safe. James met her gaze and had lowered his face to kiss her when Princess Leia confessed to Han Solo that she loved him.

"I know." Was the scoundrel's reply, and James jolted, pausing halfway to Natasha's lips and snapping his face back to the movie screen.

"What the hell?" James' outburst brought on the attention of every eye in the room, nearly everyone's brow raising as he scowled at Han Solo. "You don't—that's not—you're s'posed to say it back—"

"I know, man," Sam was smiling, entertained by James' outrage. "Tell me about it."

"Yeah, yeah, Fan Forums everywhere have talked it to death for the last forty years," Tony waved at them irritably. "He's a scoundrel, that's what scoundrels do."

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* * *

 _Listen to "Chasing Cars" by Sleeping At Last_

* * *

Natasha's arm was flung over James' chest, head snuggled against his shoulder, and legs intertwining with his as the early hours of morning ticked on. She grinned at him, swiveling her head to look at his restful face. His features were so masculine that it made her ache—curved cheekbones, the slight dimple in his chin, the slightly mocha tone of his skin, and even the color of his shut eyelids. He was grinning, even in sleep, and she knew she had better store this moment away in her memory. Who knew when they would be thrust back into the middle of a warzone, or battling against robots, or any number of things that would try to shatter this happiness into oblivion.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Mm." James answered, shifting to his side and pulling her closer against him.

"Are you awake?"

"Mm-mm." His throat hummed above her head.

"It's morning. Do you want some coffee and chocolate?"

"Mm-hm." The hum tickled at her hair, but James made no effort to move. Natasha waited for a few moments longer before whispering into his chest.

" _Do you know why love is for children?"_ She spoke quietly in Russian.

No answer. Good, he was asleep.

" _Because children are innocent and can love with everything they have."_

Still no answer, but that only made Natasha brave enough to speak on.

" _I can't remember being innocent. I don't think I ever have been. But you make me feel like I am."_

James snuggled closer, adjusting his position in sleep.

" _I love you, James."_

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He'd heard it all. James listened quietly to Natasha's confessions and it broke his heart. He was keeping so many secrets of hers that it came naturally to him to keep this one as well. At least, until he couldn't stand it anymore.

" _I'm not so innocent myself."_ He whispered to her in Russian. _"And I love you, too."_

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 **re`cip`ro`ca`tion: responding to a gesture or action by making a corresponding one.**

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 _Long chapter of happy fluff (which has not been edited, so please point out typos if you see them)! :D Beware, it shall not last for long…_

 _Responses to reviews for Chapter 24:_

 _ **Qweb:**_ _Let's hope so! But Hydra's desperate and willing to do whatever is necessary—we'll have to wait and see!_

 _ **Mmelody:**_ _:D! Thank you_

 _ **TardisAJB:**_ _I hope that was good and happy!_

 _ **Stever0gers:**_ _I was already planning on it, but now that you've referred to dancing in the review, it's a-comin'! It's always such a hard balancing act, trying to put as much fluff as I can into their relationship while keeping their very serious and sober characteristics in mind._

 _Thank you so much, all you awesome followers! Please leave me a review—even if it's just a smiley face!_


	26. 25 -Reintegration

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 **Chapter 25 – Re-integration**

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 _Listen to "You" by Seinabo Sey_

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"Natasha…" James dragged out the last vowel into a groan, rubbing his eyes because he was groggy and because she was on top of him and because _to hell with it_ she was being stubborn. "Stop tempting me." He laid an arm over his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to shift his legs beneath her seat, but even blocking his view wasn't helping—He couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation of that sweet taste…

"I tried waking you up nicely about an hour ago, but you wouldn't have it." He heard her snicker. "If you don't leave those sheets, I'll have to take care of this myself." James could practically hear the seductive rising of her eyebrow.

"No, you won't." _She's bluffing. She has to be_. "You wouldn't rob me like that." He couldn't stifle the moan that left his throat. No point in denying the truth, he wanted it badly…

Her weight started shifting away from him and he threw his arm away from his face, eyes snapping open. "Don't eat my chocolate!"

Natasha dangled the wrapper in the air, standing at the edge of the bed. "Pants," She held them up. "Put them on and come watch the sun rise with me. Then I'll surrender the chocolate."

The low growl at the back of his throat wasn't threatening—he'd never direct his anger at her like that—but it did embody just how enthusiastic he was about waking early. The pants were on in moments, followed by a black, cotton v-neck shirt, and after running his fingers through his newly-cut hair James was out of bed and snatching the bar of chocolate from Natasha's outstretched hand—

—but not before he planted a messy kiss on her lips, causing her to pull away from him and wipe her hand across her mouth.

"Ouch," She murmured with a good-natured smile. Oops. Stubble. He'd forgotten about that.

"Let's go see this sunrise of yours so I can shave and go back to being smooth and suave."

So gentle was her touch and so quickly did she catch his hand that it wasn't until she was pulling him forward that he realized their fingers were interlocked. If it had been anyone else, he would have flinched at the contact or removed himself from the controlling nature of the action. But Natasha's green eyes held nothing more than the need to share something she loved with someone she—

"I love you," He blurted out as they tip-toed down the hall toward the entertainment room. Red hair bounced as she walked without skipping a beat, her face turning to lock him in her gaze, and Natasha grinned that curious half-smile that just about killed him. The pressure of her hand on his tightened and she licked her lips a short moment before smiling widely at him and whispering, "You, too."

If someone had told him ten months ago that he would be lucky enough to carelessly watch the sun rise with a beautiful woman, he probably would have accused them of outright lying before threatening bodily harm against them.

"Good morning," an unfamiliar voice said from the kitchen.

 _._

* * *

 _Listen to "Ticking Bomb" by Aloe Blacc_

* * *

James' limbs seized at the sound of the intruder's voice and he dropped Natasha's hand, reaching for the pocket knife at his right and swiveling his head to assess how many viable targets there were—Natasha was safe behind his left arm, where he'd pinned her _gently_ between himself and the wall—neither of them were wearing thick clothing, let alone armor, but there was a doorway he could nudge Natasha through if gunfire became an issue, and he trusted her to find a weapon and alert the others in a timely manner—he needed to decide between venturing further out into a more exposed position or guarding Natasha's vulnerable body.

"James," Her hand was running down his arm in what was supposed to be a calming movement, but his muscles tensed under the touch and he barked out a quick, "What?" before allowing himself to take his eyes off of the kitchen and look down at her.

"It's okay," She stepped out from behind him and he resisted the urge to throw her back against the wall. _Enemy. Unsafe. Aren't you tracking that, Natasha?_ His blazing eyes tried to communicate to her, but hers were saying something different.

 _I'm safe. You're safe. Misunderstanding._ She took a few steps toward the kitchen and James fought every fire-pained nerve not to leap in front of her, planting his tingling feet where they were.

"It's just Nick," She waved James over.

A strangled breath left James' lungs and he flexed his right hand to get it to stop trembling after that unexpected, yet powerful adrenaline rush. He was having trouble moving his feet and was inwardly cursing himself for being so slow, but Natasha broke through his lapse and took his hand, much as she had before, and led him into the kitchen.

"Merciful God— tell me _you're_ not moving in, too." James raised his lip in a snear at Nick.

A thought prickled at the back of his mind. Had Natasha woken him early to meet with Nick or to watch the sunrise? Had she set this up? That didn't sound right and one look at Natasha's scowl made him shove that doubt away. No, Natasha hadn't set this up. She looked disappointed. They had gone from a carefree, almost-normal morning in which they could at least _pretend_ to be a normal couple, to…

"What do you want?" James freed the mangled wrapper of chocolate from where he'd crammed it into his pocket. He was too keyed up for chocolate and coffee now.

"Hmph." Nick answered, pawing through the contents of the cupboard. "While that doesn't sound much like a thank you, I'll say 'you're welcome' anyway."

James rolled his eyes. "Somehow I feel like you telling me Natasha was in trouble was less of a favor to _me_ and more of a favor to _you_."

"I wasn't _in trouble_ ," Natasha interjected, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the countertop. James inwardly moaned—why did she have to look so amazing and tempting _right now_?

"If I hadn't asked you to stop them from scrambling her brains and turning her into the next Winter Soldier, we'd be having a completely different conversation right now."

If there was one thing James appreciated about Fury, it was that the man didn't care for small-talk and didn't treat James like he was about to fall apart—but Nick had chosen the _wrong_ morning and the _wrong_ red-headed lover to pick on.

"She wouldn't have _let_ them," James snarled, gritting his teeth and leaning threateningly close to the dark man's face as Nick turned around. "She could have taken down _every single one of them by herself_ —the only reason she didn't is because _I_ showed up and she had another person to keep track of." He backed away, expression falling, and eyes tentatively meeting hers from where she stood to the left of Fury. Nick looked unimpressed.

But Natasha looked touched. As though she had no idea the amount of confidence James had in her. He mentally kicked himself. They'd been so caught up in his disappearance to Asgard that what had happened in the sewers hadn't _once_ come up.

"While that's probably true, you both got back safely." Nick apparently found what he wanted in the cupboard and started scooping coffee grounds into the filter of the coffee-maker. James had never touched that machine and was heaving a sigh of relief that Nick hadn't gone for the French press. That was _Steve's_ French press and Nick had already stepped on too many figurative toes that morning for James to keep his cool for much longer.

"Nick, we've got things to do," Natasha's patient voice grated against James' nerves. She didn't have to be so kind to him. "Was there something you needed help with?"

"I'm here to help you," Nick poured water into the coffee machine and pressed a button, turning around to face them fully and bringing out a handful of folded papers from his jacket. "Or, more specifically, I'm here to help Captain America." He held out the papers to James, but pulled them to his chest and looked the former assassin in the eye, adding, "A favor for a favor." And then he held out the papers to James again.

The coffee-maker sputtered and spit brownish liquid, which James assumed passed for coffee, into the glass container while he fingered through the papers, brows scrunching together. There were pictures of Steve, in and out of uniform, and there were words written in code beside each of the pictures—one of them being a picture of Steve before the super-soldier serum. The old photo struck a chord in James, the scantest flash of a memory— _throwing an arm over the shorter man's shoulder and slapping the newspaper against his chest, announcing that on his last night before shipping out, they were going to see a science exhibit_ —and then James turned his eyes up to Nick.

"Am I supposed to know what this is?" There was no venom in his voice, just the curiosity of a man who had forgotten and remembered too much and too little for one lifetime.

"No," Nick shook his head, grasping the handle of the coffee mug and blowing on the hot contents before taking a sip. "But this information is most valuable to you. Hydra's not the only cranky bastard trying to get their hands on you, Natasha, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark—any of you, really. But anyone connected with the super-soldier serum will need to watch their back for a good long while."

"Have you cracked this code yet?" James shuffled the papers, looking for a translation.

"Not yet. Don't exactly have a whole department dedicated to that sort of thing anymore," Nick smiled wryly. "I'm just me. A man with resources. And my resources brought this to my attention. Someone is after Steve."

"You said 'favor for a favor'," James face scrunched into heavy skepticism. "What's the favor you're askin' me for?"

"Protection," Nick sipped the last remnants of his coffee—the cup was startlingly empty and James assumed that Nick had lost his tongue's sense of heat or taste. "For Steve Rogers. Something you were planning on doing anyway. But something easier done if you're out in the field with him."

James shook his head, staring at the ground and letting out an ironic laugh. "I knew this was coming. I just didn't think I'd let you sell it to me so fast."

"So, you're in?" Nick set the mug down in the sink.

"I'd do anything for Steve." James murmured reluctantly, wishing Nick would _just get out of the tower and leave me alone with Natasha!_ and knowing the steps of logic in his head. "Super-muscles or not, he's got a nose for trouble and I won't let it take a bite outta' him."

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* * *

 _Listen to "This Night" by Black Lab_

* * *

When James approached Steve to talk about joining the Avengers on missions, his friend was all-too-willing to accept, the gleeful smile on his face enough to break James' heart. But then they got to the heart of the matter and Steve's optimism faded. Whomever it was that was looking for Steve would probably just as easily settle for the former Winter Soldier. James wasn't as concerned for his own safety as Steve's, but that had always been the problem with their relationship.

"We're just two goons who don't know how to take care of ourselves, but we can carry the other guy over our shoulder at a moment's notice." Steve shook his head. "I don't like this, Buck. But… I know I can't ask you to sit in this tower forever." He rolled his eyes. "Much as I'd like to."

"Yeah, yeah," Today was a brave day, and that meant initiating physical contact—James clapped a hand over Steve's shoulder.

That evening was full of nightmares. They weren't memories re-emerging or a past life made clearer, they were fears of what was ahead. Steve, lying broken and bloody in James' arms. Natasha burnt alive. Sam falling out of the sky with one wing. Even images of Thor being ripped apart. And then there was snow. So much snow. And it was burying James alive…

He shivered under the blanket, muscles tensing as he reached up to take his face in his hands. Not again, not that dream again. Freezing. Too much ice. Was he in the cryogenics tank? Or was he falling from the train? Maybe he was in Russia again… cold. Too cold. He tried, really he did, not to shudder so hard that it woke Natasha, but she seemed much too in-tune with him to ignore that shaking sensation of the mattress.

"James," Her hand was warm on his shoulder. "What's…? You're freezing."

He wanted to shrug off her hand, to tell her it was okay, _just go back to sleep_ , but he knew she wouldn't leave him alone until he responded to her. His mouth wouldn't open, though. Too cold. But, bless her, Natasha didn't offer to draw up a hot bath, she didn't insist that he put on more layers, and she didn't get up to grab more blankets. She just… scooted closer to him and pressed soft kisses to his neck before settling herself back to sleep at his side, an arm and a leg draping over him _casually_ , as though she _weren't_ trying to warm him up. Clever woman.

James could ride a fine line between embarrassment and anger, and the usual reaction he elicited – someone trying to baby him or act like he couldn't handle what was going on—only exacerbated that struggle. Natasha and Thor seemed to be the only ones that understood his unspoken plea _: treat me like I'm normal and I'll respond normally._

Natasha's body heat was helping, but James couldn't stop shivering from the residual cold of the dream. In a quick movement, Natasha reached down to the foot of the bed and pulled something up and over him. Oh. The cloak. The weight of it was comforting. His own personal cocoon.

"Better?" Natasha whispered from where her nose brushed against his collar bone. The touch made him shudder, but at least this time it wasn't from cold.

"Mm-hm." His fingers twitched against her shoulder, stroking the soft skin there and grounding himself in the scent of her shampoo and the weight of the cloak. The chill was gone and he was blessedly warm once more.

"I love you." She nibbled at his ear.

"You, too…"

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* * *

 _Listen to "Lost In The Echo - Instrumental" by Linkin Park_

* * *

James wasn't supposed to be on the ground with the rest of them, but circumstances had forced him from his perch at the tallest building, away from his high-powered rifle. Clint and Natasha had been pinned down in the open square by multiple Demolition Men – is that really what they were calling themselves?—and Tony had been too busy dismantling a bomb to lend assistance, so that only left Banner and Rogers.

" _Captain…?" James let the word linger in the air, that unspoken question that wasn't quite asking for permission, but was definitely an offer._ _Steve reluctantly agreed, outnumbered by a hoard of the D-Men and too far to get there in time._

The skies darkened as James slashed out at numerous foes, a wave of relief running through his spine as lightning swept downwards and fried five Demolition Men. Seriously—who were these morons and why were they wielding construction tools? It didn't matter, whatever bone they'd decided to pick with the Avengers, they had come fully prepared.

Thor roared and threw out his hammer as Clint's arrows flew through the air, but it was Natasha's electric armbands that caught James' eye. What she couldn't supply in strength, she more than made up for with precise motion and electric current. If only he had a moment to watch her graceful form…

"Soldier!" One of the Demolition-Men shouted. "Hydra sends its regards!" And then the man began to speak to him in Russian, wooing that skulking predator that lurked at the back of James' head, ushering it to the forefront of his mind to unleash its sickly sweet rage.

While the fighting continued around him, James' steps faltered and he stood as though bound by shackles. He had forgotten those words, that enthralling and terrible spell over his conscience, but another song of magic had already begun.

Thor's loud and booming voice uttered words in an alien tongue, a menacing threat against the one who had used the trigger words against James and a chant to press back the Winter Soldier, but somehow James knew the meaning of Thor's strange intonation:

 _Back, back, back—into the depths again, to sleep and sleep some more—down into the ocean with you and your uncivil tongue, brawl no more this day and cease to fight the shell you stand in. Peace. Learn the quiet well and rest until you are bidden to return—you will come again, but not this day. Back, back, back._

The tune lulled the dark menace in James' head and he drooped under the weight of the words, as though his physical form embodied the mental slinking back of the Winter Soldier. Hands held him upright and his mind cleared, head swinging forward as he returned to his center of gravity. He couldn't tell who was helping him to stand, but Thor stood before him, hand outstretched to him with that fatherly expression James had secretly become so reliant on.

"There is still more to do, my friend," Thor grinned at him. James clapped his hand against Thor's, greeting him the way the Asgardian had taught previously, and took a deep breath to clear his senses and jump back into the fight. It was a brilliant tactic on Thor's part - to coax him back into battle instead of allowing him to rest - and it reminded James of something someone had said a long time ago:

"If you fall off of the horse, you get right back into that saddle—or else the fear'll try to tell you not to set on the horse again. Better to look that fear in the eye while you're _in_ the saddle, that way you can kick that doubt right in the backside and tell it to go running back to hell."

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 **re`int`e`gra`tion: the process of returning the mind to an cohesive state after it has been deranged by phychosis / the process of recalling an entire memory from a partial cue, as remembering a speech upon hearing the first few words.**

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 _Sick writer is sick. *sniff* I have a special place in my heart for Linkin Park's instrumental pieces :)_

 _I have posted sketches on my Tumblr! My name is The Spartan Bird and my profile pic is a leafy broach of the Tolkien symbol. Since fan fic .net doesn't like links, I'll give you the link with spaces between the dots and slashes (I hope you can find them easily enough):_

 _The first sketch is my visualization of what Natasha's face must have looked like when she took a moment to check out James during the fight with Hydra:_

 _the-spartan-bird_ ** _._** _tumblr_ ** _._** _com_ _(slash)_ _image_ _(slash)_ _125128448381_

 _The second sketch is how I pictured James and Steve having their coffee-snob moment right after the return from Asgard:_

 _the-spartan-bird . tumblr . com (slash) image (slash) 125128360036_

 _There are other sketches on my tumblr, apply them as you like to the story, but they were just doodles. I've got more coming (as I'm inspired), and please be nice with your criticism._

 _Response to chapter 24 reviews:_

 _ **TardisAJB:** Thank you very much!_

 _ **Qweb:** Naw, I wish the happy could last for longer, but I need reality in my stories._

 _ **Avengers2015:** Me, too! There isn't enough WinterWidow in my opinion!_

 _ **NativeSpinner:** :D! Well, thank you very much! I hope you continue to enjoy it as we go! _

_**KnowInsight:** You bring up a good point, but since Marvel hasn't acknowledged those universes as being the same, I don't want to complicate things…_

 _ **Mmelody6:** :D! :D!_

 _ **Steve r0gers:** Thank you thank you thank you! Balance is what I'm aiming for!_

 _Thank you to everyone following and favoriting this story! For sketches to this story, look for The Spartan Bird on Tumblr :)_


	27. 26 -Reformation

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 26 - Reformation**_

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* * *

 _Listen to "The Winter Soldier" by Henry Jackman_

* * *

Natasha groaned. Demolition Men – where were these people coming from? They were far too organized to be amateurs, supplied too well, and their goals were too well-placed… but when it came down to the people, they were just a bunch of thugs. So, how did a mass amount of criminals end up being so effective? There was really only one answer, but Natasha dreaded to say it, let alone think it.

"Captain," She whispered as she entered an emptied-out office building with Sam and Steve. It was one of the first to be evacuated, silent and dark despite the sunlight that tried to filter in through the windows, and it caused Natasha's instincts to flare immediately. "Do you know what this place is?"

Steve nudged a toppled-over filing cabinet with his boot. "Nick's resurrecting Shield."

" _This_ is the new Shield?" Sam raised a quizzical brow at the space, almost in disgust.

" _One_ of the pieces, most likely," Natasha said, crossing her arms. "That's how it started the first time—plant the departments in separate locations, that way it's harder to take down when it's still so vulnerable."

"The Demolition Men have been targeting Shield's departments, then?" Sam moved over to a desk and shuffled through a few papers. "But they're a bunch of _idiots_ , how could—"

"They're a bunch of idiots who now have ties to Hydra." Steve interrupted, nodding at Natasha to say he understood where her train of thought was going. "Hydra's too weak to stand on its own legs, but they have experience and resources. All they lack is the manpower to carry it out."

"So they're using the Demolition Men to do their dirty work?" Sam blew out a sharp breath. "That's… that's actually pretty brilliant."

"James," Steve spoke, knowing his earpiece had picked up on the conversation. "Did you get all that?"

"I heard you, Captain," James voice crackled into all of their earpieces. "Cut off one head…"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve rolled his eyes. "How are we looking out there?"

"Clint's coming to join you, Banner and Thor are still under fire at the first location, Stark is working on dismantling the bomb, and I'm still on the roof of the sister building, tracking a hoard coming your way, but I can't see where they're coming from." Natasha could hear the change in his professional demeanor when he ground out reluctantly, "Captain, permission to change position?"

Steve considered for a moment. "Which side of the building are they headed for?"

"East side. They're already in." James sounded nervous, like he wanted to jump up and take them all on by himself. "Check that—East _and_ West side. Captain, you need to get out of there, now. I can see the stairs closest to you, but I can't see you. _Permission to change position_?"

"Negative," Steve rolled the word off of his tongue like he understood how badly James wanted to leave the roof.

Clint's voice came over the communication's link. "Should I come to you or are you getting out like James says?"

"Stay where you are, Hawkeye. We're heading out," Steve said, already in motion with Sam and Natasha following behind. They were just leaving the cubicles and entering a stairwell when they heard the raucous of Demolition Men on the levels below.

Natasha could see something working in Steve's eyes—that fast-paced brain strategizing and calculating quicker than hers or Sam's—and he bent over the railing to look at the levels below. Steve muttered a curse under his breath before looking to the levels above them. On the ceiling of the stairwell was a sky-light, a circular glass window to the bright blue sky and puffy clouds, maybe four floors above them.

"Stand back," Steve ushered, waving them away from the railing, "Up against the wall, there."

Leaning over the railing with his rifle, Rogers shot at the ceiling window, dashing back against the wall as the shards of glass fell through the air and shattered over the heads of the Demolition Men below.

"I don't think that's gonna slow 'em down much, Cap," Sam was looking at Steve like he was crazy, and suddenly Steve grabbed one of Sam's shoulders.

"Get Natasha out of here and then come back for me." Roger's voice was full of that stubbornness Natasha hated so much.

"Aw, hell no!" Sam shook his head furiously at the same time that Natasha swore at Steve in Russian.

"Three of us won't last against that many Demolition Men, we're in the middle of the building and help can't get to us quickly, you can't carry the both of us, and I'll be damned if I let you take me first and leave Natasha all by herself." Steve spoke quickly and practically. It was clear he'd thought through the variables enough and they were wasting time by arguing when the masses of D-men were nearly there. If they didn't make a decision now, the decision would be made for them.

Sam was shaking his head, but he moved toward Natasha.

"No, you don't—I'm staying right here!" Natasha growled at him, stepping back and bumping into Steve, who had his arms around her in a second, trying to subdue her struggling limbs and pass her off to Sam. "No! Let go! No!"

But Steve was too strong for her and Sam got a grip on her despite her protests, nearly pulling her arm out of its socket as he blasted through the air. There was no point in struggling against him now that she was dangling over levels of empty space and Natasha threw her arms around his waist, holding on fearfully as they flew upward and through the broken window. She took one last glance downward and stopped breathing, seeing the wave of D-men approach Rogers like they were a torrent of water rushing over the stairwell.

The sun blared in Natasha's vision and she was blinded for a few moments before she realized Sam was flying over to where James was positioned on the roof of the building opposite the one they'd just escaped.

"Drop me and go get Steve!" Natasha shouted, thinking about just letting go, but one of Sam's hands was gripping the back of her jacket. "James can catch me—just _go get Steve_!"

"James," Sam shouted over the comm link. "Heads up."

Setting down his rifle to the rooftop surface, James looked up just in time to see Natasha as Sam released his hold on her. The feeling of weightlessness lasted a few seconds before her shoulder and knee collided with James' uplifted arms. They both toppled backwards and James grunted under Natasha's weight, snarling at Sam in Russian.

"— _the hell does he think he's doing_!" James sat up and pulled Natasha upright in his lap, hands moving over her to check for injuries. "Are you hurt? If he so much as scraped your knuckle in that fall—"

"Get up!" Natasha didn't bother to explain, a desperate tremor in her voice. "Steve—he's still in the building—the D-men—he needs cover fire!"

James jumped to his feet in an instant, pulling Natasha up alongside him and leaping to where his rifle leaned against the lip of the building's edge.

"Where?" He demanded, offering Natasha one of the other three rifles beside them.

She pointed, not hesitating to accept the weapon. Natasha wasn't nearly as good a marksman as James and she knew it, but she couldn't sit idle. Looking at the building across from them and still pointing at the left corner of it, they could see the hordes of Demolition Men running up the stairwell.

"Third floor," James pointed out to her in a controlled tone, allowing something dark to take over and keep him focused. "Take out three of the stragglers and then aim one floor up. Three shots, one floor up, repeat."

Natasha silently obeyed, peering through the scope on her weapon and carrying out his instructions exactly.

The Demolition Men near the lower levels of stairs were slow, waiting for the ones above them to go a little faster—and they were also the ones most vulnerable at the moment. Boom. Boom. Boom. Once the three shots had been fired the D-men immediately darted to move away from the windows, causing the bodies to stop their flow upward on the stairs.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Natasha heard James' weapon fire where he could see them at the top. She couldn't see Steve on the stairwell anymore and assumed he had gone back to the office-area, but the least she and James could do was stop the influx of enemies pouring in at him until Sam could get there.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Natasha worked her way up the flight of stairs, reloading when necessary and keeping her shots concise and efficient. James' worked his way from the top downward and soon the men were in such chaos that _up or down_ the stairs didn't matter to them anymore.

"Sam," James spoke coldly into his comm. "Tell me you found him."

The sound of a scuffle filled everyone's ear-pieces, but finally Sam crackled out, "I found him—I'm right here with him."

James didn't bother to sigh with relief and Natasha didn't blame him, things were still too tense. "Tell me you're getting him out right the hell now."

"Can't do that." Sam grunted, obviously struggling with an opponent. "One of these a-holes broke the wings. I'm stuck here with him."

"Steve?"

No answer.

"Steve?" James tried again.

"His ear-piece is out." Sam huffed.

"Barton?" James called. "Do you think you can get in there?"

"I'm already on it." Clint said. The sounds of struggle that had accompanied Sam's voice were now becoming the same background noise as Barton's. "Those guys on the stairs are pissed, though. You stopped 'em for a while, but they'll be back if we don't do something… bigger."

"You're the one with the explosive arrows." James rolled his eyes. "Tony, are you done with that god-awful machine yet?"

"Who died and made you the Captain?" Tony irritably chimed in.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha watched James' face drop and his eyes squint into a killing-scowl. "Steve Rogers will if you don't hurry up."

"Two minutes." Tony interjected, still busy with the bomb the Demolition Men had left in another building.

"Fine, where's Banner?" James tilted his head toward Natasha. "Er… does he even have an ear-piece?"

Natasha shook her head and James sighed, his arms and legs twitching as though he wanted nothing more than to jump from the rooftop and run after Steve himself.

"I've got one shot at this," James picked up an alternate rifle, aiming it at the top of the stairwell. It was a smaller version of a rocket launcher, the most volatile weapon the Avengers felt comfortable giving him, but he'd moaned that it was nothing more than a glorified potato-gun. "I'm gonna try and take out the top of the stairs."

Lining up the sighting with this scope, James blew out a steadying breath, but before he could pull the trigger, a pain-filled scream filled his ears.

 _._

* * *

" _Trauma Room" James Newton Howard_

* * *

Steve's comm link might not be working, but Sam's was, and that's why James heard Steve's unholy bone-shattering scream.

"The Captain's down!" James heard Clint say over the comm. "The D-men are crowding us in here!"

He had expected to be torn, but the Winter Soldier knew his business of waiting patiently for the right opportunity. Training kicked in and he judged the distance again. _Watch the wind-speed_. He reminded himself coolly as he did the math in his head. _Count down from five…_

"Is anyone else coming?" Barton's voice appealed to the open link once more, but James had sunken too deeply into training to register an emotional response. At least, not yet.

Boom! The crack of the recoil against James' shoulder. The trail of smoke following the rifle's round. The small explosion that happened outside of the building. The second explosion at the inside of the building. The crumbling of the stairs at the top, making it impossible for anyone to even so much as leap to it.

James rose from his spot and ran like hell as he gripped his rifle clumsily. How he made his way to the ground floor of Steve's building was a mystery, but he remembered Natasha tossing him a grapple-hook-gun and wrapping his arm around her waist as he let the gun lower them down. That same gun was in his hand now, pulling them upward, beyond the damaged stairwell. It might have baffled him that the gun could have held enough line to get them up so many floors, but there was only one thought dominating his mind. _Get to Steve, get to Steve, get to Steve._

When at last they reached the right floor, figures in construction gear—using nail guns _of all things_ , jackhammers, and small wrecking balls—were coming at Sam and Clint repeatedly beside a handful of cubicles.

And with his opponents turning their backs to him, it was almost too easy for James.

Again, his mind blanked as muscle memory and adrenaline took over, dead or defeated bodies heaping around him in a blur. It took someone shouting his name repeatedly to come out of his stupor and acknowledge that there was no one left to fight. Before his eyes registered the faces looking at him, he saw the trail of blood on the ground and walked in a daze to follow it to its source. "No, no, no, no," James whispered. _Steve._

Laying in a fetal position on the dirty ground, Steve had lost consciousness but the grimace was still plastered to his face and Sam was now doing his best to put pressure on the abdominal wound James couldn't quite see from where he was standing.

"—came at him with a jack-hammer." Clint was saying, kneeling beside James—when had James fallen to his knees?—as they slowly rolled Steve onto his back. There was a _hole_ in Steve's _middle_. "Just started drilling away at him before I could—"

Steve's face was contorting, returning to the land of the waking. And then he unleashed the worst sound James had ever heard in his life—Steve opened his mouth and took in a gasping breath before he screamed. But the cry caught in his throat, as though the hole in his middle had robbed the air from him and he shuddered as he tried to take another breath in, his legs writhing against the dusty carpet beneath him

"Calm down," Sam pressed hard against Steve's shoulders to keep him from sitting up. "I need you to stay still!"

Steve nodded and relaxed his arms obediently, but continued to convulse and draw in uneven breaths, small streams of blood making their way through his jacket and pooling on the floor underneath him.

"Stark," James wasn't sure how he found his voice, but he did, pressing a finger to his ear-piece. "Can you fly Steve out…?"

"I'm on my way." Was the blessedly joke-free answer that sounded in his ears.

"Cap," Sam was putting a thumb under Steve's left eye, leaning forward to get a better look at his pupils. "No fallin' asleep right now. Stay awake, talk to Bucky."

"We stop 'em?" Steve moaned with an odd gurgling noise, rolling his head to look at James. "Get everyone out? Bomb?"

"Tony's done with the bomb," James tried to keep his voice steady, but he couldn't shake the horror that he might be watching his best friend die after finally feeling like things were looking up. "No more D-men coming up here. They know _you'll_ give 'em hell if they do." He tried to smile, but his muscles wouldn't obey.

"You—okay?" Steve spit up a combination of saliva and blood. "Everyone okay?"

"On second thought, shut up, Steve." James scooted closer, taking up Steve's right hand and clutching it to his chest.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Alibi" by Banks_

* * *

James refused to leave Steve's side from the moment he entered the medical building, but eventually Sam coaxed him and the head physician into the space outside of the hospital room where James could still see his friend through the window in the wall.

"Tell me." James uttered concisely, waiting for the grey-haired man in silver glasses to speak.

"It isn't an exact science," The doctor rolled his eyes. "But based on what I know, the muscle and tissue damage will definitely heal because of the super-soldier serum. His bones are even re-knitting themselves in the spinal column where he was struck. But as for major organs… his liver was punctured and one of his kidneys was obliterated. His liver might or might not repair itself, I don't know. The kidney's the hard part—there are pieces, but I can't put it back together like a puzzle."

"People make do with a single kidney all the time," Sam's brows furrowed.

"But _Captain America_ can't." The Doctor said condescendingly. "His body's much different than yours or mine and he needs more than we do to function because of the serum—"

"What about a donor?" Sam interrupted, and James could sense that the doctor would have gone on forever if they let him.

"The average kidney won't work." The doctor took off his glasses and wiped his brow tiredly. "Like I said, he's got super-soldier—"

"What about me?" James finally spoke up.

"What _about_ you?" The physician put his glasses back on and looked James up and down.

"I don't have the same serum, but I've got… something," James was hesitant to go into details, but the doctor was finally taking a good look at him.

"Who are—?"

James rolled up his left sleeve and looked away from the doctor's gaze in irritation, the metal of his fingers glinting in the hospital light. He was waiting for the judgement, or the call for security, or… well, whatever it was a normal person would have done after finding out who he was.

The doctor's eyebrows rose, but he didn't look frightened. "That's not what I was expecting."

"You know who I am." James could see it in the man's face.

"Anyone who watches TV knows who you are." The doctor didn't look mistrusting necessarily, but something about him was irritating the hell out of James. Maybe it was just that he was _Steve's_ doctor.

"Then you know what I can do to people who aren't being compliant." James snarled, even though he himself recognized that it was an empty threat and lacked its usual venom. But he was desperate—Steve needed help.

"And I've been in my practice long enough not to be intimidated by patients' loved ones." The man looked James square in the eye, calling his bluff in a way that immediately humbled James—almost in the same way Thor could. "Even if they're capable of slitting my throat."

Bravery. Good. This guy would need it if he was going to operate on a super soldier that anesthesia couldn't put under. He'd stared down the Winter Soldier and had been able to hold his own. James' inhibitions about the physician melted away and he gave a satisfied nod.

"Would it work to give Steve one of my kidneys?" James rolled the sleeve back down.

"Before you answer that," Sam held up a hand, looking James in the eye. "How are _you_ supposed to walk around with only one kidney?"

James growled and pointed at where he could see Steve through the window. "That's Captain effing America in that room and I'm the spit out leftovers of an assassin organization." He turned his furious eyes to the doctor. "Blood, marrow, skin grafts—whatever I've got that Steve's missing—anything you need, you take it."

The doctor nodded with a glint of admiration in his eye. "Lots of people have the wrong idea about you. I hope I'm the first of many to admit that." He held out a hand and James hesitantly reached forward to give him a handshake. "Barkley," the man introduced himself.

James paused, realizing the doctor was waiting for him to speak. "…James. "

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Miss You - Original Mix" by Trentemoller_

* * *

Aside from the quiet beeps of machines and Steve's slight wheezing, the hospital room was quiet—lending Natasha some much-needed peace.

"What're they sayin'?" Steve whispered from the raised hospital bed, propped up enough to see James and Sam speaking to the doctor through the window. Natasha didn't relinquish her hold on Steve's hand, but kept brushing her thumb along his wrist, sighing through her nose and rolling her eyes. Of course Steve would remember that she could read lips. And of course she didn't have it in her to lie to him.

"James is offering to give you a kidney." She pressed a soft kiss to Steve's temple.

"Mmph." Steve's lip twitched under the press of the tubes going into his nose, his almost-purple eyelids fluttering shut. "What a pal." He breathed hoarsely with sarcasm.

Natasha turned her eyes back to the window and squinted. "…And blood, and marrow, and skin…"

Steve coughed, a wince crinkling his forehead and causing him to grit his teeth. "That's… a little overboard."

"Steve," Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, continuing to rub her thumb along his wrist. "You do know you've got a hole in your middle the size of my fist, right? That's not so overboard…"

"No, no, that's not how this works." Steve summoned a weak smile and tilted his head to look at her, the blood vessels in his eyes running red and agitated, but his blues shining through despite it. _Red, white, and blue_ — _he practically bleeds patriotism._ "See, I'm supposed to say 'I'm fine' and then escape from this hospital bed and go find some thugs to rough up, all while forgetting I'm injured."

"Not a good plan if you're telling me beforehand." Natasha smirked at him, squeezing gently at his hand with both sets of fingers. "I'll have Thor set his hammer down in your lap and then sit back and watch you squirm while I eat a bowl of popcorn. Maybe I could sell tickets."

That summoned an even brighter smile from Steve, his blue eyes glistening and his mouth twitching while he suppressed a painful laugh. "Ugh, just don't charge more than…"

Steve's face scrunched as a wave of agony passed through him, his right hand shooting out to the handle of the bed and his left hand gripping Natasha's with enough strength to crush it. She winced under the pressure of his hold, but made no sound, eyes fixed on his strained expression and willing the discomfort to go away with every trembling breath.

"Sorr—" He let go of her hand, realizing he was hurting her, and quickly grabbed at the railing until his knuckles were white, the veins in his forehead becoming more pronounced as he ducked his head and continued to grit his teeth. "Not fine—I'm not fine—"

Natasha didn't hesitate to press the button on the bed, summoning the nurse before tapping at the window to get everyone's attention. Machines were starting to beep louder and the railing on Steve's bed squealed under the exertion of his muscles.

Stepping away from the bed, Natasha made room for the hospital staff as they gathered around the shivering, groaning Steve. James stood outside the doorway as though his presence might disrupt something key and Natasha's heart stung with sympathy at the lost and confused look on his features. He jolted when Steve gave a sharp cry, more metal grinding sounds coming from the bed while Steve's hands mangled it further. But Natasha couldn't look—it would haunt her to look—let the doctors handle it, but she couldn't watch her friend in pain!

"James, we need to let them do their job." Sam's hand was on James' shoulder, trying to lead him away, but James resisted and stayed where he was. Natasha wanted so badly to leave, considered herself a coward for wanting to get away from Steve's broken cries of torment, and stood in front of James—not blocking his view, but keeping her from looking back.

"Please," She nearly whimpered, vision blurring with tears, and it shook James from his fixation on Steve and caused him to look at her instead. He looked horrified, torn between staying with Steve and offering Natasha the relief of distance away from the room, but eventually he nodded and made slow steps backward.

"Wait!" One of the nurses called, immediately causing them to turn around. "Um…" The short, blonde woman held Captain America's shield in her small arms. "He said… can you take this?"

If James hadn't already been struck by some form of shock, Natasha would swear she could see it compound even further on his face as he tentatively reached out for Steve's shield. As soon as one of the arm straps touched his fingers, the nurse whirled and headed back for the room. The shield might have fallen if James hadn't reached out quickly to grasp the strap.

The way he looked at the shield, one would think he was holding a holy relic.

.

 _CNN News Channel 48_

" _We have breaking news coming to you live from our regular daytime anchor Amy Miller at the Banner Hospital in down-town New York. Amy, can you tell us what's going on down there?"_

" _Well, we've just confirmed rumors that the Avengers brought none other than Captain America himself to the cardiovascular wing of Banner Hospital. He arrived in critical condition and we are getting mixed reports, but a majority of them say that he has already passed away…"_

.

.

 **re`for`ma`tion: the action or process of changing to make better**

.

.

* * *

 _I am full of complete crap and made up a news channel, anchor name, and hospital name. If you live in New York and none of these things sound familiar to you, I am terribly sorry, but I didn't have enough time to do my research. As soon as I do, I promise, I will fix these things._

 _And, no, um, duh, I would NEVER kill off Steve like that, but I think you all know that… Sorry for the cliffy, next chapter is coming soon! Remember the time Gabrielle Giffords had been shot and news stations were reporting that she'd died, but she hadn't….um, yeah, the news is screwy, my friends._

 _Response to reviews for Chapter 26:_

 _ **Mmelody:**_ _Thank you!_

 _ **Avengers2015:**_ _I'm so glad, thank you for reviewing!_

 _ **KnowInsight:**_ _Um, thank you :)_

 _ **TardisAJB:**_ _It's such a relief to hear a reader say they like character depiction. I can see it all in my head, but I don't know if it makes as much sense to another person, so thank you!_

 _ **Cairistiona7:**_ _The cape—it's a new fixation of mine, I'm going to track down something like it and upload pics or sketches soon! And "treat me normal and I'll behave normal", doesn't that go such a long way?_


	28. 27 -Representation

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 _ **Chapter 27 - Representation**_

.

* * *

 _Listen to "For Everything A Reason" Carina Round_

* * *

Natasha thought she could handle it. She was watching the operating room through the window of the observation area, which was the closest the surgeons would let anyone come. Doctor Barkley was standing in the narrow gap between the two operating tables—on one table lay the battered Steve, whose skin had lost color and took on grey hues, a plastic breathing mask covering his nose and mouth. On the other table, James was lying bare under a clean sheet, having been put under only minutes ago. It was a relief that his modest super-serum would still allow conventional medicine to work, but the same couldn't be said of Steve.

"Are you sure you want to be here?" Sam asked from beside Natasha.

"Don't know what else to do right now." She admitted with arms crossed. She could do this. She felt the way Steve looked—bare, cut open for the world to see. Two of the men she loved most in the world were strapped to tables under people with sharp instruments. And there was nothing she could do to help. Except watch. Maybe _that_ would lend them strength. Maybe _that_ would stop anything bad from happening.

Banner had been able to bring the tranquilizers he and Stark had concocted for the Hulk, supplying the doctors with enough to try and keep Rogers under for the entire procedure—but so little was known of Captain America's physiology that the doctors couldn't be certain how much to dose him with. He was visibly edging in and out of consciousness and Natasha's heart fluttered at the first grunt he made, grabbing for Sam's hand reflexively.

"Unh," Steve groaned out an objection to a nurse's touch to his open wound, head lolling under the clear mask strapped to his mouth. The nurse looked up at Doctor Barkley, who ordered the anesthesiologist to up the dosage on the tranquilizers, and nodded at the nurse to continue her probing.

"Unh," Steve repeated louder, beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead as he weakly flexed against the restraints around his wrists.

"Sam," Natasha whispered, not knowing herself what she was asking for. She could do this. She could do this. She could—

Tony slid into the room like a ghost, wearing rubber gloves, a mouth covering, and a hairnet, moving toward the machine attached to Steve's mask and adjusting a dial on the side of it. It was curious how he'd entered the room without causing a disturbance, but Natasha was grateful to see that his adjustments to the machine had done well—Steve's head lolled to the side and stayed there, muscles loosening, and hands going limp.

Sam let out a loud breath of relief and rubbed circles into Natasha's back, using his other hand to loosen her grip on the windowsill. Her white knuckles and broken fingernails told her she'd been gripping it like a lifeline.

"Do you know how many times I've done this, Sam?" Natasha muttered brokenly. "How many times I've sat behind a window like this and watched someone I care about being operated on?"

Sam stole his eyes from the window and looked down at her, shaking his head slowly.

"It's been more than the fingers on one hand," She slouched under the weight of so many awful memories. "And every time, it hasn't ended well."

"Well, _this_ time it will." Sam reassured her, pushing on her shoulder to guide her away from the window. "Because this time, you're _not_ watching." Natasha started to argue, but Sam cut her off. "This time, you're going to do what us _average_ people do when family is in the hospital—you're gonna agonize over the next few hours and then someone's going to call you and tell you the good news that everything went fine and that you can come and see them. And I promise," Sam's mouth worked into a small smile, "the _agonizing waiting_ isn't all that agonizing. People talk it up like it is, but it isn't really."

Natasha allowed herself to be led from the observation room, feet moving mechanically down a brightly-lit hall as Sam motivated Natasha forward—and that's when they bumped into Bruce.

"How's it going in there?" He rubbed his hands together nervously, scrutinizing their faces as though he expected bad news.

"They've started, but things are looking good," Sam sounded bent on keeping his words optimistic. "And Natasha's going back to the tower to get some sleep."

"I'll sleep in the janitor's closet first," Natasha raised an eyebrow at him with a sneer.

"You, uh, don't _want_ to leave the hospital right now…" Bruce looked over his shoulder and rubbed his hands together again. "There's… I barely made it inside the building before being mobbed by reporters. Apparently, someone said they thought Steve might be dead and they're running with it…" He grimaced at them and shoved his hands into his pockets. "And then one of the nurses told them about Bucky holding the shield and they're kind of running with that, too."

"What?" Natasha looked back and forth between Sam and Bruce, trying to make sense of it. She was exhausted, she would definitely admit to that, but was she hearing Bruce correctly?

"Hold on," Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you saying that they think Rogers is dead?"

"Yes," Bruce elongated the 'e' as if he were uncertain.

"And they think he's passed the Captain America mantle to Bucky?"

"Yes," Bruce said with more confidence, bouncing nervously on his heels.

"Do they know who James is? Or was?" Natasha trained her eyes on Bruce, wary of the answer.

"I…" Bruce stopped fidgeting and pressed his brows together, shaking his head. "I don't know about that one. I don't think the name _Winter Soldier_ has come up, but they're definitely asking who this new 'mystery Captain America' guy is."

"That's just messed up, man," Sam looked like he wanted to storm down to the lobby and set the record straight, but Natasha knew that wasn't the best way to handle it.

"Let them say what they want," Natasha was too tired to be irritated. "They're just digging holes for themselves to fall into later when Steve wakes up. It'll be worth it to see their faces when he releases an official statement." Wow. Sam's optimism was rubbing off on her. And from the way he was grinning at her, he knew it.

"That's my girl," Sam pulled Natasha into a sideways hug with a smile. "But we gotta' find you something better than a janitor's closet to sleep in."

Eventually, they were directed to family sleeping quarters, a hotel within the hospital, and by that time Natasha was so energy-depleted that she knew sleep would come fast. Sam didn't leave her like she expected him to and he reasoned that he wouldn't really be able to go back and watch, so he might as well keep her company. And then it wasn't long before Clint appeared in the taupe-colored, lightly furnished room to find her sitting beside Sam on the couch, both of their feet propped up on an ottoman and Natasha's head resting against Sam's shoulder.

Clint didn't need either of them to say anything to know what was needed, but shoved the ottoman further toward Sam and sat on the other side of Natasha, arms gathering her into a hug.

"That's _not_ how you get her to sleep," Barton muttered to Sam with a knowing smile, pulling on Natasha's shoulders to cause her to lie sideways on the couch. "You get the feet, I'll get the hair."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, but pressed her cheek into his thigh and allowed the soft touch of his fingers through her hair to goad her closer and closer to sleep. Sam's hands were rubbing circles into her heels and she would have sighed in contentment if her heart hadn't been so heavy.

Sleep came, slowly but surely, and it brought light and airy dreams with it, too colorful and blissful to allow her mind to be occupied with the events of the real world.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "In The Stream" by S. Carey_

* * *

" _We have breaking news coming to you live from our regular daytime anchor Amy Miller at the Banner Hospital in down-town New York. Amy, can you tell us what's going on down there?"_

" _Well, we've just confirmed rumors that the Avengers brought none other than Captain America himself to the cardiovascular wing of Banner Hospital. He arrived in critical condition and we are getting mixed reports, but a majority of them say that he has already passed away…"_

Click.

" _He was headed to surgery, but I don't think they got him there fast enough—"_

Click.

" _Can we trust this new Captain America? Will he embody the same national pride and heroism as Steve Rogers did—"_

Click. The television fell silent and turned off.

"You've got to be kidding me," Steve sighed exasperation, tilting his head from where he was sitting in the folded bed. "Just because I asked the nurse to have Bucky hold it for me?"

"Don't look at me, I don't know how this works, Steve." Sam said in amusement, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped together behind his head. "I don't have the paparazzi following _me_ around everywhere."

Anger flushed over Steve's face, but it only brought relief for Natasha as she sat beside James' bed, comparing her memory of Steve's grey complexion to the red of his now-frustrated cheeks. For herself, she couldn't care less what the media thought of her or her little screwed up family.

Leaning forward over the edge of James' hospital bed, Natasha's chin was resting in the crook of her bent arm where it lay on the bed, her other hand resting on the pillow as she combed fingers through the strands of his hair. She was staring at his sleeping face, grateful for this moment of peace, and let her eyes wander as she memorized James' features—

His strong brow was smooth in slumber, a contrast from the way it folded and wrinkled under his intense expressions in wakefulness. She couldn't help it - he was asleep and she could stare at it all she wanted now - that one feature she secretly had a fetish for: that dimple in his chin. Even while he rested, that slight crevice in his chin was prominent, adding such a masculine element to his already handsome appearance that it stung her heart with a possessive pride. Light stubble was appearing over his chin and jawline and Natasha errantly wondered if he'd want to shave soon…

Two sets of eyes were watching her and she noted the sudden silence from Sam and Steve. She was pretty sure Sam was blushing and smiling to himself, but he sat back further in his chair, Steve's bed hiding his smirking face. Yeah, yeah, Sam. Natasha couldn't decide between rolling her eyes or laughing. _I know. You ship us. I get it._

Steve only looked like he approved, shameless enough to continue watching her while her fingers continued to play with James hair.

 _Come on, James_. Natasha rested her forehead against his shoulder. _Wake up so you can tell your best friend to get a girl of his own, huh?_ Warm relief flooded her as she felt his chest expand with a deep breath, her hand creeping out to take his and keeping clear of the multiple IV's taped down over his right wrist. The metal prosthetic had been removed, his stump of an arm exposed to fresh air for the first time in days.

"Come on," She whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead. His fingers twitched and his brows wrinkled together, but his eyes remained closed, the tremor of a small exhale opening his lips. "Show me those steely blue eyes I love so much."

James' fingers twitched again, tickling against hers, and he made a small sound in his throat, head rolling slowly against the pillow. Natasha was watching and waiting intently when a series of musical beeps sounded from within the hospital room. She looked up, only to see Sam's head swivel toward the table against the wall.

"Someone's calling you." Sam's eyebrows rose and he retrieved Steve's phone from the folded up pants on the table by the door. He was about to hand it to Steve when his eyes dropped to the screen. "Who's 'Unlucky Number'?"

A look of astonishment and near-panic filled Steve's face. "Sam, give it to me." He reached out as though to snatch the phone, but withdrew his hand when the movement stretched at the bandages around his middle. "Don't answer it. Please." The phone stopped humming and went silent in Sam's hands.

Sam peered at the screen again. "Now they're sending you a text. All it says is ' _status?_ ' Who is it, Steve?"

"If you're not gonna' give me the phone," Steve tried to hold his arm out again, "Then at least send them a text telling them that I'm alive."

"Steve," Natasha was taking steps towards Sam, "We don't want to tell _anyone_ anything right now—"

"This _isn't_ a security breach," Steve's eyes were wide with alarm.

"Then why aren't you telling us who it is?" Natasha demanded sharply.

"Because a man is entitled to his privacy." Steve didn't look like he was going to back down and glared at her stubbornly.

"What man? And why are you protecting him?"

"Natasha, calm down, this isn't what you think—"

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," Sam looked down at the phone in surprise. "They're calling again."

Natasha snatched the phone from Sam's hands and pressed the button to answer the call. "Who is this?"

No one answered on the other line, but Natasha could hear hurried footsteps in the background before the mystery person ended their call.

"What did they say?" Steve's worry was beginning to get on Natasha's nerves and he leaned forward, grimacing as he repeated himself. " _What_ did they _say_?"

"They didn't say anything." Natasha swiped through the text history on the phone and found that a good portion of it had been deleted, but four messages remained—

Sent: _Plan?_

Received: _Domestic today._

Sent: _Meet tonight?_

Received: _Same place. Midnight._

"You've got a lot of nerve, Rogers." Natasha said after reading the texts out loud. "Giving _me_ lectures on how secrecy destroys trust."

"Natasha," Steve said in a warning tone, snatching up the phone when she threw it onto the blanket beside him. "I promise, I haven't lied to you. You're right, I'm protecting someone."

"Steve," Sam came to stand beside Natasha and calmly removed the phone from her strong grip. "You know how this could look and I wanna' give you the benefit of the doubt, but… you've got to give us something to work with." He crossed his arms. "You know you can trust us, so why…?"

Steve leaned back against the raised mattress, looking at the ceiling and blowing out a reluctant breath. He looked ready to talk and Natasha was patient enough to wait for him to collect his thoughts, but before he said anything, the door to the room flew open and a very out-of-breath Sharon Carter burst in.

Sharon's eyes were wide and wet, lips open in disbelief as she locked eyes with Steve, who fixed her with a similar expression. The two of them gaped at each other in silence while Sam and Natasha, both too stunned to speak, watched Sharon cross the short distance from the door to Steve's bed and reach for his face with her hands, head ducking down to lock lips with Rogers.

"Oh…" Sam's eyebrows shot up, one hand rising to cover his mouth. Natasha was still too startled to say anything, but her mind was putting the puzzle pieces together: _Unlucky Number—thirteen. Agent Thirteen of Shield. Agent Carter. Captain America's secret…_ she couldn't believe where this was going… _lover? Was that too strong a word? Maybe girlfriend? …no, definitely lover._

"Why didn't you answer?" Sharon's eyes were full of tears as she withdrew her hold on his face, hands hovering over him like she didn't know where she was allowed to touch him with so many bandages. "The news reports keep saying you're dead and then I called and you didn't pick up—I had to see for myself."

"I'm fine, Sharon." Steve held her palm against his face, kissing at her wrist.

Fine? Natasha was starting to hate that word with a vengeance. Would everyone stop using that word? Clearing her throat to remind the two that they weren't alone, Natasha rested her hands on her hips. Steve sent Natasha an impatient look, as though she were interrupting something important, and returned his eyes to Sharon, his hand still resting over hers along his jawline.

"Tell me what happened." Sharon insisted, sitting down in the chair Sam had previously occupied and looking Steve over, her face twisting when she saw his wrapped middle.

Natasha was about to interrupt and demand an explanation, but Sam was putting an arm around her shoulder and guiding her back to the chair beside James bed.

"Give 'em a minute," Sam insisted, glancing back at the two. "You just pay attention to this guy," Sam pointed at James, "and I'm gonna' get us all some coffee." He turned to leave, but then paused and swiveled around. "Or do you need something a little stronger?"

"Coffee's fine." Natasha sulked, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair enough to put her feet on the bed beside James' knees. "Unless you can find some whiskey."

"Irish coffee, coming right up." Sam said, shaking his head and moving quickly like he was grateful for an excuse to leave the room.

"Hey." James' voice was gravelly and Natasha's head snapped to look at him.

She sat up slowly, allowing a half-smile to roll onto her face as she bent closer to him. "Hey." And then she smiled fully, not resisting the wave of absolute joy in seeing him awake.

James' grinned weakly at her, the tubes across his face limiting the movement, and then he tiredly rolled his head across the pillow to look at Steve before frowning and turning back to Natasha. "Why's Cap kissing a blond?"

The resentment Natasha felt over Rogers' secret had receded to the back of her mind with James' awakening but it _was_ still there. "Probably because he realized he can't have _you_ now that you're mine."

His throat rumbled with a small laugh as his hand came to rest on his chest, tubes tugging at his skin. "I like that." James' said as though he were pleasantly surprised.

"Like what?"

"Being yours, Nat." He called up that devilish lady-killer grin and fumbled for her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing at her knuckles. "Just you wait. When I get a clean bill of health, we'll go dancing somewhere, have a good time."

"Dancing, huh?" She couldn't stop smiling. Was he still loopy from the drugs?

"I gotta show off a little, give you incentive to keep me around, ya know?"

Oh yeah, he was definitely still a little high. But it settled Natasha's nerves to see him so happy and relaxed.

"Gotta charm your socks off and prove that you can't live _without_ all this charm." He teased, his fingers reaching for her hip, but stopping when the tubes weren't long enough to let him. "I'm charming, right?"

Natasha was grinning so widely and trying so hard not to laugh that she couldn't say a thing. Barnes seemed to deflate at her silence and reached for her hip again.

"Natasha," He whined. "Boost my ego, tell me I'm charming."

She snickered. Why was he so fixated on the word 'charm'? Natasha rose and moved her hip within grabbing distance and crossed her arms. "I can tell you right now, I definitely wouldn't be this happy without you. How's that?"

"Works for me, doll." His eyelids slipped closed again, but his ridiculous grin stayed, fingers losing their strength as Natasha picked up his arm and put it back on the bed.

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* * *

 _Listen to "The Red Truth" by Helios_

* * *

Natasha was falling asleep in the chair beside James' bed, when a visitor snuck through the door and into the room. The lights had been turned off, Steve was sleeping, and Sharon had left about an hour ago, but Natasha had hidden so that the nurses thought the room was empty. Visiting hours were over, but Natasha liked bending the rules and James had only laughed happily when he realized she was still there. So, _who_ was _this_?

"James," The person's features were obscured by the darkness, but Natasha would know that voice anywhere. "You awake?"

"Something you need, Stark?" James voice was husky with sleep and Natasha pretended she hadn't heard both of them whispering, keeping her eyes slightly shut and feigning sleep.

"It's more like something _you_ need." Stark didn't bother with a chair and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. "But first things first. Wanted to thank you."

"For?"

"Not going back on that promise we made." Stark's condescending tone didn't sit well with Natasha, but James hung his head as though chastened.

"I almost did." James muttered. "I'm sorry about that."

"Meh," Tony shifted his weight. "In your defense, you were a little effed up with Hydra's crazy pills. Couldn't expect you to remember it. Thor told me, though, that you practically demanded he take you to Asgard."

"I thought I was dangerous. I thought he could help me."

Steve stirred in his bed and both men's head swiveled to look at him, but then they resumed their discussion when the blond man didn't wake.

"I don't take issue with that," Tony held up a hand. "But I gave you that arm for a favor. Once Thor's brain-healing grape-juice pool fixed you up, though, you took your time before you came back."

Natasha could hear James grinding his teeth. "I know…"

"You know, redemption stories don't write themselves." Tony muttered bitterly. "They need a little help. The next time you're an idiot and you think they'll all be better off if you left or killed yourself, you look down at that metal arm and remember that mission we talked about." Tony took a threatening step forward, but James didn't look like he wanted to defend himself. "If you aren't _with_ them, you can't complete it, and I'm _not_ gonna waste my time on you again if you leave."

James nodded solemnly and Natasha wondered why he wasn't furious with Tony for saying those things. _I'm not gonna waste my time on you again?_ And what favor had Tony called in? What mission? Natasha wasn't sure what to think of it, but that little voice in the back of her head said to wait it out. She'd already had a misunderstanding with Steve earlier that day—finding out that he was secretly seeing Sharon Carter—and maybe… just maybe… but Stark's reputation wasn't as clean as Rogers' and it was difficult to lend him the benefit of the doubt.

"What was the other thing you needed?" James voice sounded small.

"Again, not what _I_ need. What _you_ need." Stark was headed toward the door. "I'm gonna take care of the press, clear up this crap about Steve being dead and you being his runner-up, but I'm also gonna need to show you off. I've got a 'skin' sleeve for your arm. You're passing as James Barnes, Steve Rogers refrigerated friend in Hydra's captivity, but without all the villainy. Victim, not assassin."

"I guess that's sort of the truth." James snorted. "How long will that lie last?"

"Until someone puts two and two together. Not long. But enough that you can save kittens from trees, kiss babies, and wave the American flag in the faces of criminals on public television. At least then we can spin the turn-around story and people will buy it."

"I guess I'm in your debt again." James said as Tony silently filled the doorway.

"Even more incentive for you to keep your promise, Bucko." Tony whispered before he disappeared and closed the door.

"What favor?" Natasha whispered once Tony was gone. James didn't startle, he must have known she was listening.

James reached for her hand as though he were worn out and afraid, firmly winding her fingers with his and taking a steady breath. "He wouldn't mind if I told you, but he doesn't want you to _talk to him_ about it—he made _that_ part clear." James fingers brushed along Natasha's arm and she waited for him to speak.

"The condensed version is that you're all his family. Sounds fluffy and cute, but he threatened to kill me if he found out I was an imposter or a spy. He has a lot of trust issues." _But who wouldn't when you find out your life-long mentor hired terrorists to kill you for profit?_ Natasha could almost hear Tony say in her mind. He'd said something like that to her before.

"He told me about Steve when he came outta' the ice. Said he could see it in Steve's face even though Steve pretended to have everything look put together, knew Steve didn't even _want_ to be alive. Stark says I'm the match that started the bonfire in Steve again. And if I left and made Steve go back to the way he was, then I'd pretty much be killing Stark's family. Everybody needs Stark in some way and he likes to be needed, but Steve is the glue that holds them all in the same place."

It dawned on Natasha that she wasn't as observant of the others as much as she'd thought. Steve's relationship with Sharon, Tony's startling wisdom regarding their team dynamic—Tony was completely and totally right. And Natasha needed to pay more attention.

Steve needed a safe place for James to live—what could be safer than Tony's tower?

Banner was a nomad, but with the security of Steve taking up residence in the tower, he'd been there a lot more.

Clint followed Natasha—but only to make sure she was taking care of herself—Natasha was following James, and James was following Steve.

Even Thor, who was dependent on them for nothing but friendship, tended to come to the tower only because the rest of them were there…

"He'd called it my mission to stick with all of you because that was the programming jargon I'd been stuck with when you found me." James was errantly writing on the back of her hand with his fingers. "The deal was that I get the arm if I can keep the family together."

Natasha sighed. Yeah, James was right—it did sound _cutesy_ when he said it like that. But she imagined James was giving her the rated PG version of Stark's words and actions, rather than the full glory of his expletives and imaginative death threats.

"That's not a bad deal." She leaned over the bed and pressed her lips against his temple and James leaned into the touch like he wanted to mold himself into every part of her. He had that heartbroken touch-starved expression when she pulled away, but she reminded herself to firmly resist it. They'd already tried sharing the hospital bed together, only to find out they were both covered with enough injuries that it was too awkward to get comfortable.

"The faster you get better is the faster you'll be out of that bed." Natasha said unnecessarily, feeling the ache of wanting to be close to him just as acutely. "You're about seven hot showers away from touching me."

"You think the hospital staff will _let_ me take seven in a row?" James wagged his eyebrows at her tiredly before closing his eyes to sleep.

.

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 **Re`pre`sen`ta`tion: the description or portrayal of something in a particular way**

 **or being of a certain nature**

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 _Hasn't been checked for typos—lemme know if you see any!_

 _And, yes, there are comic-dialogue insertions :)_

 _The upload took a long time because I wanted to put too much into this chapter, so it's been re-written a lot. I can see and hear and feel everything going on in this story, but translating it to paper means that I have to cut some of it out. Doesn't make much sense to spend a whole chapter on internal thought and physical sensation descriptions, even though I'm sure SOME of you would like that. I know I do. So, pretty much I gave you an extra 1,300 words to thank you for waiting._

 _By the way, just a heads up, the next chapter is going to be a doozy... a very loooooooooong chapter. It might take a few days to get it perfect. Already half-written. Your reviews make things happen faster, though, so we'll see ;)_

 _Response to reviews for Chapter 26:_

 _ **Qweb:**_ _Yes, the drama, bwauahahahahaha!_

 _ **Cairistiona7:**_ _Thank you for leaving a review anyway—and, don't worry, if you leave me a review, it will encourage me to write all that much faster!_

 _ **KnowInsight:**_ _No worries! I thought it was a smiley, but I wasn't sure if it was a 'meh'._

 _ **Mmelody6**_ _: :D!_

 _ **Guest:**_ _Um… I whumped Steve… and I'm not sorry! More whump coming, but not for Steve… Mwuahahahaha!_


	29. 28 -Replication

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 **Chapter 28 – Replication**

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* * *

 _Listen to "Ride This Out" by Imaginary Cities_

* * *

The Demolition Men had attacked a news building, taking hostages to the helicopter pad at the top and threatening to drop their captives over the side if the Avengers attempted to interfere, a demand that had Steve scrambling for options. In the end, it was Natasha who volunteered to enter the building stealthily, catch them off-guard, and secure the media staff. James had insisted on following her, but assured her that he would do so at a distance.

Fifteen levels later, she rose quietly up the stairs to the roof of the building. Natasha's presence had gone unnoticed until three of the five gunmen were lying in unconscious heaps on the floor, thanks to her speed, silence, and the electrical batons Stark had modified for her. The remaining two gunmen latched onto a camera-man and shouted obscenities at her, edging dangerously close to the drop beyond the scratchy, black surface of the roof. Fortunately, their attention was focused on her and not on James while he ducked within the stairwell, taking aim at the fourth gunman with his precision rifle. The gunman's head erupted in a spray of red before the rest of his body fell backward and disappeared into the expanse beyond the building. The remaining Demolition Man began to shout even louder as he pressed the barrel of his gun sharply into the cringing camera-man's temple.

Natasha could hear the click of a reload on James' gun, aware that he was about to fire again, but she held up a hand, cautioning him to wait. Approaching the gunman slowly, Natasha spoke calmly, trying to keep his attention without forcing his hand. But the D-man was too frantic and grabbed the tall, skinny youth by the collar, shaking him too close to the edge of the building for Natasha's comfort, and this clumsy action caused them both to flail as he took a step backward.

She didn't even think about what she was doing. She only acted. Natasha leapt forward to grab hold of the young camera-man's hands while the gunman plummeted over the side with a shriek.

"Gotcha," Natasha jerked backward so that the hostage fell on top of her and not over the edge. The young man grunted as he landed, eyes wide, mouth agape, and out of breath.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh," He kept repeating in a whisper, large eyes staring at her face with pinpoint pupils. Attempting to free herself from his weight, Natasha recognized the effects of shock.

"Listen," She groaned in discomfort. "Everything's going to be okay. I know you're freaked out, but I need you off of me."

"Oh my gosh," He seemed to realized how he was positioned over her body and shakily tried to move his legs, but I took Natasha's strength to roll him to the side, where he huddled in on himself for a moment before looking at her with awe.

"You'll be fine, just breathe." Natasha jumped to her feet, free of his skinny, but heavy body. "What's your name?" She asked, trying to distract him from his fading panic, offering a hand to help him up.

He raised a trembling arm, still out of breath while he clutched at his shirt collar with his other hand. "Um… I'm Jeff." After being helped to his feet, the frazzled youth looked at their surroundings in astonishment, his short, spikey brown hair pointing in all directions. "I can't believe that just happened…"

"You're a camera man in New York," Natasha snickered. "I'm sure you've seen worse than this."

"It's, uh…" Jeff watched the other hostages head for the stairs, running a hand through his hair and smoothing his open button-down shirt over the white t-shirt he wore. "It's different when, like, when you're _in_ it."

"Well, you're out of danger now—why don't you join your co-workers?" Natasha nudged his shoulder, peering at the stairwell and wondering where James had gone to.

"I, er… could I stay?" Jeff's nerves seemed to melt and he smiled sheepishly at her. "I mean, I was hoping to, er, meet Iron-man…"

Natasha wanted to roll her eyes, but she bit her lip instead, hesitating when the voices began to crackle in her ear-piece, all assuring her that they were headed up immediately. She sighed. What could it hurt? "Only if you answer a few questions."

Jeff's awkwardly uneven smile lit up his face like a puppy. "Shoot."

"The Demolition Men, did any of them talk to you? Did you overhear anything?"

"They didn't say much," Jeff shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan pants, which were somehow long enough for his stork-like legs. "And they… they used a lot of swear words." He blushed.

Natasha couldn't help but grin. Cute. "But you didn't hear them talking about what they wanted here?"

Jeff's eyebrows rose. "No, but… I think I can help you—I didn't _hear_ what they wanted, but I think I caught it on camera. There was this thing," He was spinning around, arms flapping as he stepped away with his long and awkward legs, looking for something intently. "A machine! I caught it on camera!"

The clank of metal boots behind Natasha couldn't be anything except Stark's Ironman suit. Steve dropped from the sky and landed not far from Natasha as she glanced upward, seeing Sam sailing in a circle over the building with his wings held out wide. The others appeared one by one, but still no James. Where had he gone?

"Tony Stark," Jeff breathed with adoration, twirling around and forgetting the camera, jaw dropping as Stark pulled back the facial part of his helmet. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh…"

"Why's the kid still here?" Tony pointed at Jeff, though he spoke to Natasha.

She shrugged. "Said he wanted to meet you."

"Ah." Tony's demeanor changed and he took a step forward, allowing the very excited Jeff to shake his hand.

"And Cap," Jeff's eyes turned to Steve. "Cap! Is it true you almost died in the hospital?"

"It's true." Steve nodded, coming to stand beside Jeff and Natasha.

"Cap, you gotta tell me," Jeff held up a hand, as though emphasizing something, "who the _other guy_ is." It was obvious he was referring to James, who had carefully concealed himself from the hostages.

Steve shared a nervous glance with Thor, but Jeff only became more animated in his wonder.

"It's killin' me, I just gotta know. I saw the press conference, I heard what Tony said about him, about what he did for you, but I gotta hear it for myself…"

"He's a friend." Steve said adamantly. It was obvious that his patience was worn and Natasha thought he looked ready to usher the young man down the stairs. "Everything Tony said about him was true. His name is James—"

"Is he _here_?" Jeff's head swiveled eagerly, looking around at the roof-top.

"Jeff," Natasha interrupted, clearing her throat. "Maybe you should show Captain America what you filmed on your camera."

"Oh, right!" Jeff whirled around again, his white-plaid button-down shirt fanning out with the movement and again those long limbs were tumbling to get to the large black news camera sitting on the surface of the roof. "Sorry, I just…" He held the camera in his arms like he was afraid it would grow wings and fly away from him, but his eyes were trained in Steve. "He's a hero. Whoever he is, he saved you, Cap. There are rumors all over the place, but—I was just hoping I could thank him."

Something about the implied request didn't sit well with Natasha, but she wasn't sure what it was…

Steve's face melted into warm appreciation and he pressed a finger to his ear without hesitation. "Buck, would you mind joining us?"

Natasha could hear the white noise of James' open line, but Barnes didn't answer. Something didn't feel right. What were her instincts trying to tell her? She scanned the roof again, trying to open her senses to this unease that wouldn't leave, trying to pin-point it when Steve spoke again and James stepped out from the stairwell with a glare. His expression spoke his mind. _This isn't a good idea._

Taking slow, calculated steps forward, James watched Jeff warily. Trust was something James didn't give in abundance to strangers, but the way his face was working into suspicion further confirmed Natasha's fears. This wasn't right—something wasn't right about Jeff…

 _._

* * *

 _Listen to "Heavy In Your Arms" by Florence and the Machine_

* * *

It was with a guarded stance that James allowed himself to come closer to the young man. Steve was goading him forward and James could see what Steve was thinking. _Do you see this? People are responding positively to you—this is good, Bucky! Let's make the most of this._

But Natasha was watching him with curiosity, aware that James couldn't shake this suspicious tremor running through his chest. His skin was crawling and his instincts were screeching at him. And as soon as he was a few steps away from the young man, he understood why. Jeff's expression changed completely—from one of absolute wonder to one of absolute malice, like a lustful predator that knew he was about to get what he wanted. His lips formed words that James hadn't been prepared for, unlocking a baser part of James' mind that was suddenly rattling the chains he'd locked it up with. The monster in his head roared, furious and desperate, clawing its way up his consciousness.

He was only dimly aware of the confusion of his team while Jeff spoke the nonsensical words, drawing out the assassin from within him, but Natasha seemed to sense it instantly.

"Thor!" He heard her call and the Asgardian laid a hand on James' shoulder, already whispering the words to counteract Hydra's terrible key to his mind—and that's when the camera in Jeff's arms exploded in a flash of light.

James took a step back, expecting the impact of the explosion to jar his limbs, but surprisingly, no such force came. It was a _flash_ bomb, he realized. It had created an ear-piercing sound, but it wasn't mean to injure anything but his ear-drums. And with the last bit of rational thought melting away from his mind, James mentally applauded Hydra. They'd used another trigger word against him, set off a sound grenade to deafen him against the counter-words Thor would use, sealing their orders in his mind until the effects of the grenade had worn off. Not long, he estimated, but just long enough to do damage. It was a message: _We still own you, even from afar._

 _I'm sorry_ , James whispered as he sank downward, past his cognizance.

The Winter Soldier was deafened, but sound wasn't the only sense available to him. He struck out against the hand at his shoulder, putting distance between him and the enemy, leaping away from the circle of bodies to judge how many there were.

Stark, Thor, Rogers, Romanoff, Barton—Wilson and Banner's absence was a mystery to the Winter Soldier, but it wasn't one he could puzzle over at the moment. First threat: Stark.

Grabbing the Captain's shield, James threw the heavy disc of vibranium at the Iron-man suit, catching him in the middle before James flipped and took Rogers in a choke-hold, using the man's throat as an anchor to kick out at Barton. Clint stumbled backward, close to the edge of the building, but Natasha grabbed his hand before he made it too far. With the element of surprise gone, the Winter Soldier would need something bigger to take on multiple foes at once.

They were shouting to him—he could see their lips moving, but his ears were still ringing, a trickle of blood leaking past one lobe and onto his shoulder—but the Avengers made no move against him. Sentimentality. A weakness on their part, and advantage on his. He was ramming his fists into Clint's chest, kicking at Steve's chin, sliding through the opening under Thor's legs, and crushing the armor around Stark's body with his metal hand, but his targets' only move was to defend themselves from him. No offensive- this would be easy.

The Winter Soldier wasn't expecting the Black Widow to be the first to attack, swinging out at him with her legs while her hands pressed against the surface of the roof. But he somehow knew that kick well enough to anticipate he next move and ducked, arm lashing out to topple her backward. His fingers curled around her elbow and pulled her upward, his metal hand closing around her windpipe as he held her over the edge of the building, feet kicking over open air, ready to drop her at the slightest twitch of his hand.

And then the Winter Soldier began to release his hold on the Black Widow.

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* * *

 _Please Please Please listen to "Bang Bang" by 2Cellos, Sky Ferreira_

* * *

Natasha could barely breathe under the grip of the metal hand on her throat, but she managed to gurgle his name past her lips. "James." Her legs fluttered beneath her as she dangled over the edge of the building, wondering if his intent was to strangle her to death or to drop her. Honestly, just pick one already.

No recognition filled his eyes, no emotions passed over his face. He was the Winter Soldier. And his cold, dead, shark-like eyes barely registered that he was even looking at her, probably calculating a strategy against the others. The fingers under her chin twitched and she waited for them to release her entirely.

But then something flickered over his face. His lips parted and his eyes grew large, slowly coming to understand what it was he was doing, slowly resurfacing from that great depth in his mind. Fear worked its way into his features and his stance faltered, his hold on her neck loosening just enough that Natasha was starting to slide. James had come to himself and had tried to open his hand enough to let her breath, inadvertently robbing her of the only support she had while hovering over the abyss of a fifteen-floor building. All time seemed to slow.

Natasha began to fall, gasping a lungful of air as James' mouth opened wider in a cry of alarm, face shaking in horror as he scrambled to catch hold of her again, fingers moving through the air—

—but she'd already descended too far and was slowly dropping further and further away, watching his agonized eyes become smaller and smaller.

James despair morphed into something else—something determined and angry— and he threw his arms forward, lunging after her. What could he hope to accomplish? Sam was the one with the jet-pack—Sam! Time started moving faster and Natasha attempted to swivel herself as she fell through open air, trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of the dark man, but with no success. The only thing she managed to see was an angry James falling after her.

Something slammed into the back of her head and for a second Natasha thought she might have already hit the ground, but then her body was moving through the air again—in the wrong direction.

"Time to ride piggy-back." Stark said, trying to maneuver her behind him, but her vision was spinning and she was disoriented from being struck on the head, limp in Stark's metal arms. "You know what? Nevermind. Sam? You got him?"

"I've got James." Natasha heard Sam's answer through Tony's helmet.

Natasha tried to say something, but there was too much motion and she couldn't see straight. It was like someone had taken her internal compass and decided to spin it by flicking it continuously. " 'm gon' be sick." She managed to warn Tony.

"Not on the suit." Stark murmured back, setting her down safely on the rooftop. It was a good thing they landed when they did because her stomach couldn't have taken any more flight stress. Stop spinning! She mentally screamed at herself, but her back was against the floor and her limbs wouldn't answer her other commands.

Weaving in and out of consciousness, Natasha was faintly aware of faces studying her, questions coming at her from all sides, but the one thing she wanted was the one thing she didn't get: James' touch, a confirmation that he was alive. Even the light brush of his finger against her hand would have been sufficient to let her know that he was there, but she never got that satisfaction.

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* * *

Time had passed. Natasha could sense that. But _how much_ time? Her head didn't feel like it was spinning out of control anymore and she dared to open her eyes. A face. Someone was standing over her. But not the face she expected.

"Steve?" Her voice sounded awful, like someone had force-fed her a pinecone. "Where?"

"We're back at the tower." He said, not sounding much better. He had a black eye and there was a curved metal brace taped over the bridge of his swollen nose. "We found another bomb. Took care of it. Stark found the base we were looking for, had Banner raze it to the ground. No more Demolition Men. At least, not for a while, anyway."

Good. This was good. And yet, _not_ the information she really wanted. Natasha didn't want to be accused of having a one-track mind, but she'd dreamed plenty about James' horrified face and needed to know that he was safe.

"James?" She cleared her throat.

Steve's jaw tensed, his brow crinkling as his blue eyes pierced her. "He's gone. Left when we weren't looking. Crushed his phone and left it in an alley so we couldn't track him."

Natasha nodded, clearing her throat again. As strange as it sounded, that wasn't so bad. "Give him a few days."

"A few days…" Steve shook his head angrily, exhaling with impatience. "Natasha—"

"He'll be back."

"Last time he—"

"Steve," Natasha said sternly. "Trust me. Let him be for a little while."

She couldn't understand the way Rogers' head hung, but she honored the secret she kept for James. Tony had made him promise—even scolded him for his extended stay in Asgard—and James had been determined not to go back on that promise. Keep the family together. Stay together. Her thoughts were beginning to blur into each other and she allowed her eyes to shut again.

 _._

* * *

 _Listen to "Confusing Happiness" by Lo-Fang_

* * *

James almost betrayed Stark again. He'd nearly convinced himself he couldn't be saved. The only thing that had fought against the demons in his head was the phone calls he'd made to Natasha with the stolen phone. It was desperate and he wasn't sure why he'd even made that first call, leaning against the brick wall of a dark alley…

"Hello?" Natasha's voice met his good ear through the receiver - the ear that wasn't still recovering its hearing or filled with dried blood - and his heart skipped a beat. Confusion was palpable in her voice as he refrained from speaking. "Who is this?"

James couldn't bear to say anything, couldn't summon the breath or thoughts to tell her what he wanted. He exhaled in defeat, purposing to hang up, but somehow that breath was enough for her to pick up on.

"James?"

His heart beat faster. How? He had no idea what caused her to recognize that breath amidst his silence. And yet, somehow, she'd known.

"Hey, you." Natasha's grin was practically audible. "I'm here. Do you want me to come and get you?"

 _Oh, God, no. Don't find me. Don't come looking for me like I'm a stray kitten. I'm pathetic, Natasha. I don't know why you haven't given up on me yet…_

"I know. You need space right now. It's okay, James."

His anxiety melted away into guilt, coaxing wetness from the corners of his eyes, but he only ran a hand over his face and listened on. _You're so weak, you bastard, you can't even_ talk _to her! What's wrong with you?_

"It's okay," She said again. "I'll just talk, okay? Let me fill you in on what happened today."

Natasha wasn't a chatterbox by any degree, but she knew how to fill the dangerous silence—the quiet that threatened to break him when his loud, despairing thoughts shouted into that void, echoing off of the walls in his head.

"Steve's recovering well, but he's head to toe in stitches and complains that super-soldiers heal too fast for them. He's been annoying the hell out of Sam and I thought for sure he had endless patience, but I guess I was wrong. Sharon's the only one who's been brave enough to stand up to Steve—he said something snotty to her, something about how she was only pretending to be a nurse as a cover, but then she gave him this look. It was fantastic, James, it immediately put Steve in his place and he didn't make a sound while she calmly explained that she had, in fact, taken years of medical training as a CNA and then as an emergency medic…"

Though it was a ramble, it was inclusive—it played upon the fresh memories James' brain was storing—and James listened contently while Natasha spoke on and on and on, never prompting him to reply, but letting him know that he was missed, that everyone was safe, and that he was welcome back whenever he could manage it.

Only once in those three days did Natasha let slip her loneliness for him and it cracked at the already broken pieces of his heart.

"I hope you'll… I know you want some time alone. I know you need this. But… please, I want you to come back. I wasn't ready. After your time in Asgard… I…" Natasha paused and the silence was so thick that it choked James. He clutched at his forehead, tears spilling over his grimy cheeks, bangs falling into his face, and the silent sobs wracked at his chest, nearly causing him to drop the phone in his hand. He slid down the wall, backside thumping against the ground, still holding his face as the tears and his breaths became loud enough for his lover to hear.

"I'm sorry," Natasha whispered before picking back up at the string of conversation she'd left off. "So, we're planning to watch Casablanca this Friday. I don't know why it had to be Friday, it's not like we have jobs that run from nine to five like the rest of the world, but Tony insisted that it creates normality. I'm beginning to question his definition of normality, though, especially when he…"

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* * *

 _Listen to "Bless This Morning Year" by Helios_

* * *

It was just before daylight that Natasha awoke to an alert from Jarvis, announcing that James was standing just outside the entryway on the ground floor. Standing? Not _coming in_? Natasha threw the blankets off of her and shoved her feet into some shoes, dashing out of the bedroom with a short, "Thank you, Jarvis."

One long elevator ride and a brisk trot brought Natasha and her wildly beating heart to the lobby where she flung the glass door open to see a morose James standing without any indication that he would take those first steps forward. She didn't care about being tentative now, Natasha hadn't seen him for days and threw her arms around his unmoving shoulders, tightening her hold until she heard him grunt. To say that she missed him was an understatement. It had taken every ounce of her energy not to beg when he'd made those phone calls, but _now_ she was holding him. _Now_ she was pressing her fingers against the back of his jacket, feeling his sharp shoulder-blades through the black leather, the contours of his muscles, and the hard column of his spine.

The expansion of his lungs pressed against her chest and she could feel the quiver of his breaths, threatening to unleash the tears she knew he hated to shed. His arms hadn't moved, but now they were rising slowly, fingers softly touching at the back of Natasha's tank-top, hands moving uncertainly. Was he afraid of hurting her? Natasha could recall countless incidents where someone had said the line, "You could never hurt me," and she nearly shook her head. No, James was capable of hurting her. Both of them acknowledged that reality. But for Natasha's part, she was willing to deal with whatever pain came. James was worth it.

"I missed you so much," She breathed into his hard chest, deciding honesty was more necessary than her aversion to showing weakness. "I'm glad you came back."

She could feel the swallow of his throat against her forehead. "Needed you."

Natasha looked up, saw the haunted look in his wet eyes, the way he was averting his gaze from her, as though he were ashamed that he'd confessed as much to her, but she nodded and reached for his hand, gently tugging forward.

James refused to meet her eyes. His hair was gritty and unkempt, some of it sticking to dried sweat on his forehead—and maybe even a little blood. He was wordless in the elevator, but his appearance told her everything she wanted to know: He hadn't eaten, he hadn't slept, and he definitely hadn't made any efforts to clean himself up or address his injuries.

James didn't argue when she brought him to her room, leading him into the bathroom where she began to unwrap him from his combat suit layer by layer. Reaching over to turn on the shower, Natasha rationalized that she was letting it warm up—even though they were in a building created by Tony Stark, the man who knew no patience, and the water would probably be warm right out of the faucet—but the truth of the matter was that she needed white noise. Everything about the defeated way James was holding himself, like he wouldn't resist anything anyone threw at him, was inwardly frightening her.

"Come on," She nudged him over the short lip of the shower. He paused in mid-movement and then reached to touch the pressure points on his mechanical arm, removing it in a smooth motion and allowing it to drop loudly on the tile floor. It wouldn't have surprised Natasha if the action damaged the tile more than the prosthetic arm.

Blank-faced, James stood directly under the showerhead, allowing the water to run down the sides of his face as Natasha applied generous amounts of soap to the areas where three-day-old blood had caked to the skin on his chest. There was black asphalt mixed into some areas and a fragment of rock still embedded in his side, but Natasha worked over the unmoving man with tenderness.

"Doesn't hurt." James reassured her, looking down at where she was delicately attempting to remove jagged pebbles from the slash on his ribs.

Natasha looked up to scold James with a scowl. "Don't lie to me. This has _got_ to hurt. Don't tell me it doesn't."

"Can handle it." He growled as streams of shower water trickled down his naked muscles.

"I know you can, you masochist," Natasha acknowledge curtly. "But I don't _want_ you to hurt. Call me sentimental."

In an action that surprised her, James hand went for her elbow, bringing her to stand upright from where she crouched at his side, straightening her and pressing greedy and hungry lips to hers. If she'd thought about it, she would have noticed that the hand snuck away from her elbow as soon as his mouth was locked onto hers, but it wasn't until his tongue stopped caressing the corner of her mouth that she realized he'd distracted her so he could hastily remove the fragments of rock himself. Cheater.

Natasha was running her soapy fingers through the long hair around his crown when he sighed in contentment, eyes shutting as he savored the touch of her hands over his scratched and scraped scalp. When he opened his eyes again, Natasha's heart swelled with sympathy at the confusion and dread she saw in that window to his mind. _I'm so broken._ They said. _What do I do?_

But his mind seemed to latch on to an internal answer and James suddenly knelt in front of her with droplets of water running down his face, tentatively touching the gunshot scar on her waist with his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against it before he moved to do the same over the scar on her right hip. Taking his time to go over every scar, James kissed the skin at every part of her body he'd inflicted pain upon.

The bullet wound from when he'd shot the scientist through her.

The other bullet wound from when Hydra had sent him after her, only to be stopped by that fateful first encounter with Steve Rogers.

The stab wound from when he'd been disoriented in the safe house, questioning her loyalties and uncertain about whom he could trust.

The tear in her calf where Ruger had shot and stood atop her.

And the remaining bruises on her neck from where he'd strangled her on the roof of the news building.

There were other scars, other ridges of skin that had been hastily stitched or grafted at a moment's notice, and James kissed those as well, as though to take responsibility for any harm that had ever come over her.

"Let's get you dry," she encouraged after he rose to kiss to her lips. She wasn't unappreciative of his soothing - and there were other sensations surging through her core - but she was also aware that he wouldn't have the energy to stand for much longer, turning the dial to stop the stream of water at his back and wrapping a towel around his shoulders.

James mechanically brushed away the moisture on his body with a towel, following Natasha into her room while she draped the Asgardian cloak over his shoulders. Once again, she reminded herself to thank Thor for the thick, warm covering, her heart clenching at James tired and lost expression.

"These are warm," Natasha reached into a dresser drawer and offered him thick sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal shirt of his, both of which he silently took and slowly pulled over his limbs. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

It was difficult to leave the room, but Natasha tore herself away and into the kitchen, only returning when she had soup and buttered toast—fats and carbs to make him feel full, nutrition to meet his body's needs, she reasoned, reassuring herself that everything she was doing would restore him to what he was before. She would see her James again. She just had to be patient.

A now-clothed James was curled up on the middle of the bed with the dark-blue cloak wrapped around his muscled frame, but looked up when Natasha set the tray of food down on the bed.

"I don't like people eating on my bed," Natasha raised a playful eyebrow, "but I think I'll let it slide just this once." That was stupid. What a domesticated thing to say. But she had to say _something_ , had to keep talking to him.

James nodded, but his eyes registered nothing more than exhaustion, absently chewing at the toast after he'd dipped it into the soup. A few chewing motions later and some of the life returned to his eyes—as well as a low moan of pleasure from his throat.

"Good cook," He praised her, scooping up soup with his spoon.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Progress. "Anything _else_ I can get for you?"

Another happy groan left his mouth as he chewed on more bread, eyes closing in contentment. "We got chocolate?"

"Maybe," Natasha didn't want to scare him with her enthusiasm, but was thrilled to hear him ask for such a thing. With the mood he'd arrived in, she'd expected him to continue his self-loathing " _I don't deserve to breathe, let alone enjoy anything_ " demeanor, but now it relieved her to see him acting otherwise. "I don't think Steve's touched the coffee supply since you left—you want some of that, too?"

"Yes, ma'am," He groaned sinfully, a meek grin spreading across his face. James, chocolate, and coffee were destined to be an epic love-triangle.

But as soon as she made it back from the kitchen with a few squares of chocolate and the steaming cup of coffee, James had spread himself over the mattress and was lying peacefully and wonderfully asleep. Natasha picked up the food tray from the floor—at least he'd gone to the trouble of setting it down instead of knocking it over. She was about to return to the kitchen when he mumbled, "C'mere."

The tray was forgotten on the dresser and her shoes were hastily tossed aside as she all but lunged onto the mattress alongside him. Starving arms pulled her closer to him, a bicep under her temple, the bridge of her nose pressed into his sternum, and the nub of his left arm resting on the curve of her waist while his fingers stroked sleepily through her red hair.

He seemed blissful, content, and it was more than she could have hoped for after the incident three days ago. Whatever self-loathing would return when he woke in the morning, she would handle it—but for now, he had a full belly, soap-scented skin, and warmth around his always-cold body.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Home Again" by Michael Kiwanuka_

* * *

Natasha had been right. The self-loathing returned. But at least he was making an effort to resist it. Sort of. James returned to not speaking, jaw muscles too occupied with that tense grinding he was so good at, but he didn't hide himself away and he didn't brush off the presence of the others.

Casablanca had been postponed and it was more than a week later when the assortment of spies, soldiers, and scientists were gathered on the entertainment room couches, popcorn flying through the air every few minutes that Tony and Clint tried to throw it into each other's mouths.

Sam had made a comment and Steve was arguing adamantly. And that was the first time James smiled—and snickered!—since the incident on the roof of the news building.

"Don't bother," James' voice was rough from non-use, but his lips curled into a grin as he addressed Sam. "He's a stubborn punk."

The room fell silent, all eyes turning in surprise to the dark-haired man who had been so quiet in all that time. Unsurprisingly, it was Tony who spoke up.

"All right, someone give Wilson a medal for getting grumpy-gills here to talk." Tony's satisfaction was plain on his face.

"Grumpy gills?" James mouthed with a sneer, turning his head to Natasha with questioning eyes.

"Pixar." Tony answered simply, turning his interest back to the tv screen.

"That's what we should watch next!" Clint pointed a finger at Stark. "Finding Nemo. Or Brave. No, Toy Story!"

Natasha's hand crept quietly over to James' elbow to give it a squeeze, an acknowledgement that something had fallen from James' heavy-burdened shoulders. The tentative smile creeping onto his face and the way he picked up his arm to lay it gently behind her and across her shoulders melted away her own tensions. James would be fine. Hydra had done their worst and it still wasn't good enough.

.

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 **re`pli`ca`tion: the action of copying or reproducing something**

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* * *

 _Phew! Much longer than I normally write, but I really wanted to focus on how Hydra likes to play head-games- if they can't have their asset back, then they're willing to resort to mental torture from a distance, trying to "ruin" him from being useful to the Avengers._ _I also wanted to show that there is no consistent happily ever after for any of these characters. There are bad days and there are good days, and that also goes for people dealing with depression or PTSD. I've had days where I felt like it had "gone away", rationalizing that I hadn't had a panic attack or adrenaline rush in so long, maybe I wasn't so broken anymore. But then I'd have an attack and I'd come off of it feeling like a failure, like someone was keeping score and I'd graded below average again. I can't ever really escape the monster, can I? It's lurking in the shadows, present even if I can't see it- some days lurking closer to the surface than others._

 _Only God and my best friend (my husband) have been able to get through to me during these times when I just want to give up on everything, want to convince myself that I'm worthless, that I'm broken, that I can't function like a normal person. I wanted to do it alone, I didn't want to lean on anybody, didn't want to burden them with this invisible war I'm always fighting- and it can't be fought alone. It just can't. I hated relenting, giving up on my outward image of "bad ass" and letting anyone see just how vulnerable I am, just how hard it is to hold it together. But just like James can't deny that he needed Natasha enough to come back to her and silently ask for help, I've had to let go of the idea that asking for help was weak. I've faced tattoo needles so many times without flinching, but if someone grabs my shoulder the wrong way, I'm back in that place where everything started, searching for the nearest exit and trying to rush others safely away from the building that isn't burning, that isn't filling up with smoke, that isn't deafeningly loud with screams and sirens and panic. It's like a cruel joke- my readiness for a natural disaster, but all I get is false alarms. Is this what being an Avenger feels like?_

 _Sorry for being such a downer. I guess I had to admit at some point that this story is more for me than for you, but I hope you're enjoying it all the same._

 _I think I've got one more chapter in me for this story, but that doesn't mean a series of one-shots won't follow. I think I ran out of titles that star with Re and end in Ation._

 _One of the one-shots is going to follow Natasha as she recruits and protects a new Shield agent, another one is going to follow Steve and a mystery beam that returns him to the small body he used to have, and another one will involve a little girl that looks shockingly like James AND Steve._

 _Should I add the one-shots to this story or should I separate them into their own file? Please tell me what you think!_

 _Response to reviews for Chapter 27:_

 _ **Avengers 2015:** Thank you for the compliment on both chapters!_

 _ **KnowInsight:** How interested would you be in a Steve/Sharon story? I've been thinking about writing one..._

 _ **Mmelody:** Thank you for being so diligent to smiley-face each chapter! It really means a lot to me!_


	30. 29 -Reputation

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my head-canon.

 **James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier Story**

 **Chapter 29 – Reputation**

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* * *

 _This is it,_ James conceded. _You wanted to do this, now do it._ But he couldn't get his mouth to open, couldn't start the flow of words he so desperately needed to get out.

Steve and Natasha were nearby—she stood behind him at the back of the couch with her arms crossed; the super-soldier sat on the other couch where James could see his every expression. The message in Steve's face was clear: _You don't have to do this if you don't want to_.

 _Yes_ , James snapped at himself _, I do_.

"So, maybe we should start with your name." The reporter chimed in, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear and exposing pearl earrings. She, out of the three of them, was sitting closest to James on the black leather couch.

"James Buchanan Barnes," He stated shakily, willing his nerves to settle and reminding himself of why he was doing this.

Because it bit back at Hydra. Because the world would come to the wrong conclusions if he didn't tell them the truth. Because he needed to confess it. And because he needed to confess it to someone that wasn't Steve or Natasha—someone who would be cold and clinical.

He gave her the information the Smithsonian already had on him. He told her about his parents, where they were from, how they ended up in Brooklyn, how and when he met Steve as well as the friendship that budded from that meeting. And then he went on to recount the information the Smithsonian didn't have—the personal things, like how he hadn't liked Peggy very much when they first met.

"Why didn't you like her?" The reporter asked. Her name was Kate, but James didn't feel like acknowledging her name. It made this all that much harder to talk about and it was easier to just pretend she wasn't a person. A person with feelings. A person who would pity him. A person who would try to console him. He didn't want it.

"At the time, I didn't realize it, but she was just another reminder of how different my best friend had become."

Steve looked shocked by this sudden revelation, but held his tongue, waiting for James to go on.

"And how did it go, that first moment when you saw that Steve Rogers wasn't the same man you left behind in America?" Kate—no, stop, _the reporter_ —prompted in a kindly tone. It didn't sound like she was hungry for a story, it sounded like she was a sweet therapist. James would have preferred the other one.

He didn't comment. Didn't tell her his true thoughts on that terrifying moment – buckled to a table within the Hydra base, thinking he'd finally lost his mind and had been hallucinating Steve the entire time, only to find himself walking back to base with his friend and learning that he would _never_ wake up from that dream because it wasn't a dream – and James shrugged indifferently.

Much to her credit, Kate didn't press him for an answer and moved on to another question – but James was already lost in a _Bucky_ flashback and his eyes weren't registering the woman on the couch anymore.

" _Don't do anything stupid until I get back."_

" _How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."_

" _You're a punk."_

" _Jerk."_

" _Steve? What happened to you?"_

" _I joined the army."_

"You were captured months later," The reporter stated, as though she sensed James' need to keep this as factual as possible. Bless her, James didn't need to dwell on the feelings that stirred from just the beginning of his story. How was he ever going to get through the whole thing?

James nodded. "We had no idea what we were up against. We honestly thought that Hydra was just another Nazi weapon depot and we'd taken those out with no problem. I didn't have as many men under me as others did, but I was responsible for them and… if I had known what we were walking into…" His cheek muscles tightened and he willed his jaw not to lock up on him. Going on to describe the mass capture of the 107th, James didn't linger on the details, but made sure to pay tribute to the bravery of the men Zola experimented on before him.

"He didn't know what he was doing," James said of Zola. "He was obviously working on it, trying to fine-tune it, and he blasted one of the men with a beam that incinerated them in seconds." James could almost recall the smell of charred flesh, the sight of black ashes lining the floor of the lab, the roll of his stomach as he helplessly watched from where he was strapped to a table himself. "I think he learned pretty quickly that he couldn't replicate Stark's vita-rays."

"But he kept trying to make Erskine's serum?" The reporter wondered.

"I couldn't have known it at the time, but yes." James nodded, lips pursing as he considered what to say. "I had thought he was trying to make chemical weapons."

Kate's brow furrowed. "What made you think that?"

"Out of all of 'em, I think I had the lesser of the symptoms," James couldn't help but scratch at his arm, remembering the sensation of rashes all over his skin. "But the others had open sores, boils, weeping wounds…"

 _His hands were covered in boils and he was pretty sure his face had a few sores, but the worst of the rashes were on his neck, at the edge of his hairline. If he didn't go crazy from not being able to scratch, he would definitely die from infection within a week. He'd screamed at the others to stay away when the Nazis brought him back to the barred cell – it was a terrifying thought that he might be contagious and he'd already put them through hell by leading them into this place, he couldn't stand the idea of making it worse by infecting them—but eventually his terror won out and he stopped resisting the hands that tried to care for him. Death would come and he wouldn't have been able to see home again, wouldn't have been able to say goodbye to his sister or Steve, wouldn't…_

"Mr. Barnes," Kate's soft voice snapped him out of the brief flashback. Natasha's hand was on his shoulder and Steve was standing over him and restraining his metallic arm. His right arm was wet and stinging… he'd unconsciously scratched at the skin until he'd bled.

"I'm sorry," He said automatically, blinking slowly and grounding himself in Natasha's touch. "Um…" Where did he go from here? James glanced up at Steve with questioning eyes, wanting to keep going but unsure of how to start again, but Steve only looked down at him and shook his head.

"We don't need to tell anymore today," Steve said as he wrapped bandages over James' scratches.

We. That's right. James wasn't in this alone. As much as he might like to think he was, James wasn't the only one reliving these memories—Steve was processing every facet as though their hearts were pounding in unison.

"I can handle more," James said, silently asking if Steve could as well. Nodding hesitantly, Steve returned to his seat and Natasha removed her hand from James' shoulder.

"On your return, Captain Rogers formed the Howling Commandos," The reporter must have sensed James' inability to start speaking again. "You fell from a train on one of the missions." He could hear Kate's unspoken question, but she had sense enough not to ask it outright: _What happened next?_

This was the big mystery to the public, the reason he was sitting down to this interview, and he suddenly found himself without words. If he could have willed the pictures in his mind onto paper, he would have, but that's not how an interview worked. Words. He could do this. He could use words…

Kate turned her head to look at Steve. "Would you mind filling in the gaps? There were rumors you went to look for a body, but it's been difficult to find the official report."

Steve crossed his arms and sat back, scanning their faces. "As soon as we had Zola, I stole a map and a jeep and went back to the ravine. It wasn't hard to find the right spot, the zip-line was still there and I knew enough math to track where we would have been at the speed the train was going." Steve bit his lip for a moment before continuing and James felt a sudden urge to tell Steve this wasn't necessary, realizing just how hypocritical that sounded in his head.

"Peggy jumped into the back of the jeep before I could stop her and I had a one-track mind, so taking her turn back didn't seem like an option. We found the ravine. We found the river. We kept track of where we were on the map…" Steve's eyes went dead as he remembered.

.

* * *

 _Listen to "The Cold Sea's Embrace" by Patrick O'Hearn_

* * *

 _Damn, he was an idiot. Peggy was holding her own in the snow – thank God she was wearing boots and thick trousers or else he'd have offered to carry her or demand that she stay in the jeep—and she was carrying the map, a compass, and a charcoal pen to mark their progress. But he could hear the wolves. He'd already lost Bucky today, he couldn't fathom watching her get torn apart by wild animals…_

" _Steve," Peggy's voice was heavy with something—sympathy?—and she was pointing further down the river._

 _Oh, God. Oh, no. Now that he was here, could Steve bear to look? What a time to lose his nerve… but he drew his eyes to the river and saw what Peggy saw._

" _Bucky," Steve breathed, eyes roaming over the snow-covered ground and the slow-trudging water of the river—there was a bloody arm in a blue sleeve. Nothing else. And yet Steve knew it was a piece of his friend. His stomach rolled and his body doubled over without permission, but nothing came up as he gagged uncontrollably. As if on cue, three wolves were trotting around the corner, baring their teeth when they caught sight of him and Peggy._

 _His vision went red. Steve thought of Bucky and the possibility that he might have been clinging to life beside the stream, only to be discovered by predators and made to suffer worse than just the fall. Steve thought of Peggy—loyal, brave, stubborn Peggy—standing behind him with her gun raised at the wild animals._

 _He wasn't sure who sprang first, him or the wolves, but with the rage coursing through his veins and the serum supplying him with inhuman strength, the animals were lying in ragged pieces all around him in mere minutes._

 _Steve felt sick, hands coated in blood and grime, the chest of his uniform stained and wet, lungs heaving and that murderous look in his eye – he couldn't face Peggy. Didn't know if he could ever face her again. He was a monster. He feared this was all Peggy would ever see him as now – that vengeful brute covered in the blood of his enemies._

No one except Steve would ever understand why he'd chosen to crash the airplane into the snow, an act that would inadvertently freeze him and bring him to this time, and the thing he heard most was that he should have saved himself for Peggy's sake. There were whole websites dedicated to the idealistic romance they could have had if he had only found another way…

But when it came down to it, he could never have made it work, not with that nagging idea of her picturing the savage who'd ripped the wolves apart with his bare hands, his animalist roars echoing off of the ravine walls. Even if they'd had their happily ever after and she'd told him that it didn't matter, that she didn't think of him that way, Steve would have known it was a lie. He wasn't the icon everyone thought he was, he was a _monster_.

James was searching his gaze, waiting for Steve to begin speaking again, and could tell that something was wrong. The furrow of his dear friend's brow caused Steve's heart to lighten, a thought occurring to him: If Bucky could be rehabilitated, then there was hope for Steve. If Bucky could be brought back from the countless horrors, then Steve had a chance at living again, too. And, dear God, how Steve wanted to live again…

"We kept track of where we were on the map and eventually found what we believed to be Bucky's remains," Steve stated calmly. "We would later find out that Bucky had been injured in the fall, but since there were wolves in the area, we went with the assumption that he'd been picked apart."

As cold and factual as it sounded in Steve's ears –compared to the memory he held—Kate's wide eyes showed that she was affected by this information. She turned to Bucky with sympathetic eyes, but Bucky only stared blankly at her. It was understandable that James didn't want her pity, but he could at least let her process all of this at her own pace…

.

* * *

"Hydra put me into cryogenic sleep until Zola was free to experiment again." James continued. "They attached a prosthetic limb to me and had done so a few times with a few different models until I was lent to the Russians."

This was the one part of James' history he knew little about—and wouldn't speak of even if he had. He was aware that he had been a teacher at the Red Room, aware that Natasha had been there as well, but neither of them had been able to piece together much from what had happened there. It had turned his stomach when Natasha said she'd been at the mercy of their brainwashing machines, and he wondered what could have prompted them to use the thing on her. They'd been training her to be lethal, pouring their efforts into sharpening and perfecting her—why would they risk wiping her memory?

Even though they barely spoke of it, the answer had been obvious—he and she had rebelled. Both of them. Together. That was the only conclusion they could draw from fragmented memories and the strange sensation that what they did when they were alone had been built upon from something before. Muscle memory didn't happen overnight…

"Would you be willing to tell me about Hydra's treatment of you?" Kate asked.

James sighed. "It gets complicated. I'm willing to volunteer the information, but I'll need you to ask questions."

"Fair enough," Kate had obviously dealt with people who had said that before. "Tell me about cryogenic sleep."

"The machines evolved, but the principle stayed the same." James supplied blandly. "Freeze the body to preserve it. Bring it out with a specified thawing process, program the mind with basic orders and fundamentals, reinforce programming with discipline, and then freeze the subject again when their use has been fulfilled."

"You said they reinforced programming through discipline. What kind?"

"Electric shock therapy. Burns. Withholding food. Vacuum closets."

"What's a vacuum closet?"

James made a motion with his hands. "A small, pressurized space they can suck the air from."

"They'd put you in there if you resisted them?"

"Sometimes they would even if I didn't. Just to keep it fresh in my memory."

Anger and disgust radiated from Steve and James considered asking him to leave, but Rogers must have seen it in James' face because he shook his head and muttered, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Were you able to remember things between the freezes and the missions?" Kate went on with her questions. It was easier for James to think of her as Kate now. She'd proven she could be objective, maybe he owed it to her to call her by her name in his head.

"I could remember Steve quite a bit. He was still getting me into trouble after all those years—Hydra seemed to think they could beat the memory out of me, but he kept coming back." He smiled, hoping it would encourage his friend, but Steve looked nauseous. James knew he could put two and two together. Memories were resistance, resistance demanded punishment, and Hydra knew no mercy.

"A report says that you denied knowing him to his face. If you could remember Steve, why did you fight against him on the hover-battleship?"

He refused to make eye contact with Steve, but he could feel the other man's eyes watching him, waiting for the same answer.

"They used a new tactic," James mouth felt dry and he swallowed painfully. "They associated him with torture. Made me anticipate…" He tried to swallow again, but his mouth was parched and his throat was jagged. "Made me think that he was going to hurt me if I remembered him." James shook his head. "Didn't help that we were pummeling each other while the heli-carrier was going down. S'not easy convincing someone you don't want to harm them while they're defending themselves from you."

 _I dislocated your arm…_ James could see Steve mouthing the words at him in dismay.

Kate cocked an eyebrow at him. "Were there others? Other agents like you?"

"Yes."

Steve's eyes went wide and he leaned forward in his seat. "Does Hydra still have them?"

"I don't know." James shrugged, trying not to think about it too hard. "Hydra would loan them out, like library books, but we've been tearing Hydra apart, Steve. Hard to return a book to a burnt-down library."

Kate snorted at the analogy, but she seemed to understand the implications. "Tell me about your missions."

There was a lot James couldn't have said, a lot he withheld for Steve's sake, and a lot he could see Natasha piecing together anyway, but James attempted to be as honest as he could. He had been a machine—fed orders, living without touch, without identity, efficient due to his lack of sentimentality and morals, and threatening only out of necessity. Kate comprehended the distinction there—he had never been malicious, had never taken pleasure from hurting anyone, and had only done what Hydra had ordered him to do because they had stripped him of the ability to resist.

"But make no mistake," James uttered with a low hiss. "I was unstoppable and I didn't deserve empathy because there was nothing to empathize with."

"Your friends didn't seem to think so," Kate interjected, eyes twitching to Natasha, whom the reporter had obviously realized was more important to James than he was letting on. "You look like you're holding your own now—that can only mean they were right."

.

* * *

 _Listen to "Emancipation" by Helios_

* * *

James stretched his arms around Natasha, pulling her closer into him over the mattress, curling around her body and breathing in the scent of her hair. He was tired, grumpy, and couldn't care less that he'd just shared his life's morbid story with another person… a person who intended to make it public. James had given her permission, but it had been quick and desperate, as though he were afraid he'd change his mind at the last moment. And this was that moment in question.

"Tell me I did the right thing," James murmured into Natasha's red locks, taking in a deep breath.

"You wanted to fight alongside Steve, but you couldn't do that unless you released a statement that could be verified with what is now publically-accessible proof. You would've been locked up otherwise."

James snorted. Well, it wasn't exactly an encouragement, but he heard the message well enough: _the ends justify the means—you get what you want, at the cost of some privacy._

Natasha's soft kisses to his chest were distracting and her fingers at the waistband of his shorts was even more so. "Stop trying to give in to your angst—you've got more important things to think about."

He shuddered under her touch, inhaling sharply. "Like the beautiful woman trying to seduce my troubles away?"

"No, like what your new _superhero_ getup will look like." Natasha grinned, rolling him onto his back and stretching herself over him. "I'm thinking bright blue and fire-engine red to compliment Captain America's original tights. Maybe a small black mask so we can still see your handsome cheekbones."

With a hand over his face, James groaned and attempted to squirm out from under her. "God save me…"

"Red boots that flare at the folds, bulky gloves with—"

"Natasha, shut up." He growled, spinning himself to pin her down beneath him, kissing her to keep her lips from uttering the rest.

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 **re`pu`ta`tion: belief or opinion that someone or something has a particular habit or characteristic**

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 _So, 'Sir' went to donate blood and ended up getting sick this last week and a dear family friend in the military has gone missing. In other words, I've been busy taking care of my husband and worrying about my brother. If you have a moment, please pray that we find him. He's been gone a week and has deleted his Facebook and won't answer his phone. I don't care what he's done or where he is, I just need to know that he's okay… D, if you're reading this (small chance, but I'll still take it!) we love you no matter what—please just be safe and come home soon._

 _One more chapter, my friends, and then this specific story is done—there are a series of one-shots that will be added to it, but the chapter session of The Rehabilitation of James Buchanan Barnes will be done the next time I update._

 _I'm toying with the idea of a Sam Wilson story because that man just does not get enough love._

 _If you have any prompts, please let me know! These are the ones I plan on doing soon:_

 _*Steve Rogers becomes small again and must find his new place among the Avengers while dealing with an overprotective James "Bucky" Barnes and questioning his relationship with Sharon Carter_

 _*When a baby shows up on Tony's doorstep, the Avengers aren't sure what to think, but after a week the infant disappears, only to show up now and again over the years. And how are they to take the news that the little girl is Steve Roger's daughter? AND Bucky Barnes'?_

 _*It's April Fool's day and Tony decides to prank everyone living in Avengers tower. When James finds a positive pregnancy test in his bathroom trashcan, he confronts the billionaire to tell Stark he's gone too far—but Stark didn't plant it, so who did? And what is James supposed to think when he mentions it to Natasha and she responds with, "It's not yours."_

 _*How did Sharon and Steve keep their relationship a secret from the others for so long?_

 _Response to reviews:_

 _ **TardisAJB** : Thank you for your encouragement—Yes, Sharon and Steve! :D – and thank you for your comment about the characters' reactions being accurate (I nitpick over the little things in the hopes that it sounds feasible!)_

 _ **RukiaDeathKuchiki** : :D I'm so glad you like it! Sorry about the lag, that was the longest I've gone without updating quickly :P_

 _ **KnowInsight** : Hugs! :D Thank you! Sharon's pretty cool, I wish they'd featured more of her, but I imagine they'll do more in Captain America: Civil War (here's hoping, anyway)_

 _ **Mmelody6** : :D!_

 _ **Guest:** Oh my goodness, you made me so happy with your review! Thank you!_

 _ **Avengers 2015:** I'm so glad you liked it! :)_


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